Comes a Time
by Maxie Kay
Summary: COMPLETE! Part V in my K/D universe. Murder, maims & mayhem: a difficult case gets steadily more complex as old issues return to haunt the team. Kensi and Marty are finally together, but for how long, as events build to a climax that could prove lethal?
1. Chapter 1

Comes A Time

An NCIS: Los Angeles Fanfiction

This is the fifth in a series of stories that starts with **Personal Questions** which develops the events shown on-screen in the episode "Personal". The stories that follow are slightly AU: **A Little Less Conversation**; **Former Glory** and **It's Just My Heart Talking**. While each can be read as a stand-alone, I do recommend that you read them in order, as there are cross-references and developing themes.

There are many obvious advantages to living in a large house, set in its own grounds. One of which is the ability to play your music very loudly indeed without the neighbours complaining. The benefit of this is somewhat negated if you have housemates who do not share your taste in music.

"Neil Young? Seriously? You had to be all of about four when that was released." Callen picked up the remote and turned the sound way down.

"Remind me again why you're still here, G?" Deeks snatched the remote back from him. "If you don't like the music, you're free to leave anytime you want. Nobody's keeping you here."

Callen bit his lip to keep himself from saying something they would both regret. Last night he'd practically had to haul Deeks out of the ocean after he'd insisted on going surfing after one too many beers. Back at the house, he'd sat morosely and knocked back another few brews until they'd practically had to kick his butt upstairs. This morning Deeks was in a foul mood and making sure everybody knew about it.

"I'm here because Nico's here. Your best friend, Nico – and she's persuaded me to stick around, even though you're being obnoxious." Callen had never realised that when he signed up for this gig as team leader that it would involve playing the father-figure. It was very wearing and his patience was running out. Not that he didn't feel for the younger man, but there were limits. Usually for Callen, his relationship limit was six weeks, after which he felt a compulsion to move on. These emotional complications were the sort of thing he normally chose to walk away from. Only this time he had no choice. Nico had made that very clear this morning. And she was extraordinarily persuasive when she wanted to be. Which was pretty much most of the time.

"Whatever." Deeks stalked off into the kitchen, feeling like an idiot. Sam was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. It had only taken him four days to work out how to use the complex machine sitting on the counter. "Are you going to criticise my taste in music too?"

"No. It's a good album. Even if it was played at concert level sound. But I was going to ask if you wanted a ride over to the hospital." Sam lowered the newspaper and regarded him solemnly. "Well? Do you? Or are you just going to keep on acting like a complete idiot? Take it from me – you're not going to win this battle. So you might as well just accept it and give in gracefully. Go over and speak to Kensi. Apologise. Just suck up your pride and grovel, if that's what it takes. Because in the end, it'll be worth it." He took a sip of coffee. "It took me too long to do that with Denise. I don't want to see you make the same mistakes I did. Okay?"

"Don't you think I did all that yesterday?"

Sam regarded him calmly. "So do it again. What the big problem?"

Deeks sat down opposite him. "She doesn't want to see me. Told me she needed some space. Wouldn't even take the damn ring." God, that had hurt. He'd stood there like an idiot, holding it out like some kid with an apple for the teacher and she'd just looked at him.

"So you're giving up just like that?"

"I'm not giving up. Not exactly," Deeks said ashamedly.

"Really? What would you call it then? Mature, sensible behaviour?" Sam leant forward. "You're not going to win here, so just accept it like a man. Kensi's dug herself into a hole she can't get out of. So you've got to give her an opportunity to take you back, without making her feel she's gone back on what she said."

"You've been talking to Nate, haven't you?"

"I wish. No, Denise insisted we go to this couples counselling thing. Talk about what had come between us, how we were going to go forward – all that kind of stuff. Much worse than talking to Nate. But it actually made a lot of sense. And if you ever tell anybody else about this, I swear I will come in one night when you're asleep and shave your head. Got it?"

"Loud and clear."

"Still want that ride?"

"Why not?" Deeks got up from the table and went over to the espresso maker. His caffeine levels were seriously depleted. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime. Don't want to have to go to all the bother of breaking in another trainee." He raised the paper again to hide the grin on his face. "And go have a shower after you've drunk that. Maybe comb your hair afterwards and have a shave while you're at it? Make a bit of an effort?"

"Because she's worth it?"

Sam glared at him. "You really suck at impersonations, Marty. Did nobody ever tell you that?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Just in case there are any misapprehensions – of course I want Kensi and Marty to be happy! It's just that they keep saying and doing the most awkward things in my stories. Which is totally out-with my control. Plus there is that small matter of the simmering sexual tension between them. But I'm not deliberately cruel – well, not on purpose. Blame them, not me!_

_I do, however, accept full responsibility for any and all maims. I love a nice maim, so consider this a warning. Not that anyone who has read the first four instalments of this saga should be surprised at that._

_So many thanks to everyone who has been reading along so far, and especially to my wonderful reviewers. Amblue – your suggestion is very welcome indeed and filed away for reference!_

* * *

><p>"I'd better keep practising then, hadn't I?" He gulped down the rest of his espresso gratefully. "Do you really think I've got a chance?"<p>

"You'll never know unless you try. And stop prevaricating. Go get ready. Try being on time, for once in your life."

As he went upstairs, Deeks was suddenly aware of how much he would miss the rest of the team when they finally moved back to their own places. For the first time in years, the house was feeling like a home again. Not that he would ever tell them that, of course. Not if he wanted his life to be worth living. Just to annoy Callen, he sang very loudly the entire time he was upstairs, to the accompaniment of his IPod.

"He's in a better mood then?" Callen was also in need of another cup of coffee. Deeks' singing had that effect on a lot of people. "You managed to talk some sense into him?"

"We talked, yes." Sam continued reading the newspaper, aware that he was being deliberately vague.

Callen was intrigued. "And?"

"And why don't you ask him, if you're so all-fired curious?" He lowered the paper and regarded his partner steadily. "Something you want to tell me, G?"

"You don't reckon he's going to do anything stupid, do you?" Callen couldn't forget the look in Deeks' eyes last night. By the time he'd got down to the beach, Deeks was clearly exhausted, yet insistent on going back out again, despite the fact the surf was high and dangerous. He was like a man possessed by some inner demons, and it was only after a spectacular wipe-out that Callen had been able to drag him bodily out of the surf, coughing and spluttering. Since then Callen had kept wondering about what might have happened if he hadn't been there.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Sam promised. He was beginning to feel that he was becoming father-confessor to the whole team and was not entirely sure if this was an honour or a burden. Or even both.

Deeks was jittery as they approached the hospital. He'd clearly taken Sam's advice to heart and was wearing a fairly respectable pair of jeans, a white shirt and a dark jacket, while his hair was almost tidy, for a change.

"Didn't you have enough time to shave? Or has it been so long that you've forgotten how?"

"Kensi likes stubble."

"Fair enough. I'll just go to the gift shop, give you guys some time together?"

"Appreciate it. I'll call you if I need reinforcements or moral support." He gave a weak grin, but only got a withering look in response.

Sam snorted. "You want me to go up against Kensi? Are you mad? Even if she is laid up, I'm still not doing that."

So he was on his own. Okay, that was alright. He'd done scarier things before. He was positive he had, even if he couldn't think of a single example that was more terrifying than this. Well, maybe standing at his mother's grave was worse, but not by much. He knocked at the door.

"Can I come in?" Marty stood hesitantly in the doorway, awaiting her response, not at all sure of how she would respond. Kensi was sitting in a chair by window, and she was wearing his shirt. His heart quickened a little.

"Marty?" And her voice was full of joy. And she was wearing his shirt. That had to count as a "yes", surely it did?

"I couldn't stay away. And I know you didn't call, but I needed to see you."

_God, I sound so lame._

"I can't get a signal in this room. Look." She held up her cell. "Completely useless."

_I wanted to call you ten minutes after you'd left. And I was so worried you'd do something stupid._

Still standing in the doorway, Marty gave her an enquiring look. "Can I come in then?"

"Of course."

_Like he needs my permission! He's just trying to be sweet and understanding. Which he is. And he knows I can't resist that wounded puppy-dog look he puts on._

"Your hair's wet." His hands were running gently down her arms, as if convincing himself she was real, that this was actually happening.

"I had a shower. Well, the nurse helped me have a shower."

His face fell. "I've been having all those fantasies about giving you a bed bath. And you've just ruined them. At least tell me the nurse was hot?"

_It's easier to joke than to talk about the chasm between us. Although, now I come to think about it, the idea of giving her a bed bath is strangely erotic. In a slightly perverted way._

"He was gorgeous. And I thought you fantasised about sexy nurses giving you a bed bath?"

_I never told you about that night when you were so ill and we thought you might lose your arm, did I? There you were, all sweaty and delirious and looking so damned hot it was incredible. And there I was, fulfilling your ultimate dream. And you were unconscious. Which really wasn't so great. In fact it sucked. But that seems to be the story of our lives, doesn't it? We never quite manage to sing the same song, in the same key, do we?_

"I'm willing to be flexible." He smiled at her, still unsure of how she felt. But it just felt so damned good to be with her again. "How about I comb your hair out for you? It's going to dry all tangled."

"That would be great. I tried, but it was pulling at my stitches."

"I remember." Marty stood up and eased the comb carefully through the long locks, making sure he didn't pull or tug at any snarls, but patiently worked them free. It was strangely soothing.

"You're very good at that."

"I aim to please."

"I know." Her voice was soft and low. It was easier to talk when they couldn't see each other's faces. "I was a bitch, wasn't I?"

"You were in pain and you'd had a hell of a shock. Two shocks, to be more precise."

"Don't defend me, Marty!"

He around the chair and crouched down in front of her. "So tell me what I have to do, Kensi? Tell me how I can make everything alright again." He placed his hands on top of hers and looked up into her face.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well," her voice was hesitant, the syllables drawn out. Kensi turned her hands over and intertwined her fingers with his. "I was thinking. The doctor said that if I continue like this, I could probably be discharged after another couple of nights."

"I always knew you were Wonder Woman. But don't push it. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Come on, Marty – you of all people telling me that? After what you did after you were shot?"

"Which time? The convenience store or my psycho cousin?"

Kensi frowned. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. When I wouldn't listen to you and ran straight into a trap."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, okay. I guess I have to give you taht one. But I had one hell of a motivation to get out of that bed. I thought you were going to get killed."

"I very nearly did. If it hadn't been for you… and you damned well nearly killed yourself into the bargain." She'd thought of that a thousand times, it had haunted her dreams last night. After all he'd done for her, and when she was put in the same situation, she pushed him away. What kind of person was she? How could she hurt the person she loved so much

"Yeah, well. And like you said back then, I'm responsible for you now."

"I was just coming to that bit. So, if I get out in a couple of days, any chance I could maybe stay with you in Malibu? It's a long drive to Camp Pendleton." She looked hopefully at him, yet for once he could see the insecurity in her eyes.

"Sure. Why not."

_Okay, could I be any more confused? Exactly what is she talking about here? Separate beds? Is her Mom coming too? Oh God, I hope not._

Kensi smiled properly this time. "Thank you."

_Okay, and once I'm snuggled up next to him in that huge bed of his, we'll be able to talk and everything will be fine. There's no way I can say all the things I need to say with a nurse likely to come in at any minute._

"Any time, Kensi. You know that – don't you?"

And she remembered the last time he said those words, right here in this very room. _"I'd marry you tomorrow, Fern. Any time, any place, any where. You just say the word."_

"I know, Marty."

Maybe it was going to be alright after all. Maybe she could trust him - maybe she had to trust him, if she was ever going to allow herself to be happy. She took so many risks every day at work – so why was she so reluctant to do the same in her personal life? Because this was ridiculous. Before the stabbing they'd barely been able to keep their hands off each other – and look them now. She was sitting here, wearing only panties and a t-shirt that clung to her damp skin and Marty was being so frigging careful not to look anywhere else except her face. And that was just plain wrong. How had things got so screwed up? All those times he'd been hurt, she'd been strangely turned on by seeing him so vulnerable. So how come he could sit here and be such an all-fired gentleman? This wasn't her Marty – this was like some stranger, who looked like him and talked like him – but without the sexual frisson.

"Do you want anything?" The silence was making Marty uncomfortable.

Kensi decided it was time to cut to the chase. "Do you want the honest answer to that or the polite one?"

"Would the honest answer be X-rated-rude, or just plain rude?" He crooked his eyebrow and Kensi thought she spotted a familiar glint in his eyes.

"Actually, now I come to think about it, remember when you shot the Chechen in the hospital carpark? And you were just wearing those scrub pants?"

"Uh huh." This was sounding better. "I'm not likely to forget it. Blue scrubs and bandages. One of better looks, I think."

"Me too. Best superhero costume ever. Well, maybe when I come back home to Malibu, you mightto get a pair? For old times sake?"

"You want me in just the scrub pants? Or do you want the bandages too?" he teased, trying not to let her see how absurdly pleased he was that she called the Malibu house "home". And hey, as far as fantasies went, that one was pretty hot. He could live with that quite happily. Mart had worn worse things in his time. Like those sailor suits his Mom brought out every Easter.

"I think I've got enough bandages for both of us, right now."

Marty pulled his fingers free and stroked her arms gently. "So, you just want me wearing the scrubs, do you? No underwear? Seeing as that seems to be the theme of the day." His hands started move upwards, and cupped her face. "Or did you think I hadn't noticed? That shirt doesn't hide a thing." The t-shirt was hopelessly baggy around the neck, it was easy to slip his hand in and caress her.

Kensi leant back in the chair and gave a low moan of pleasure. "And if you're very good, I might even let you give me that bed bath." Her mouth sought his.

"You know how to make my day, don't you?"

"What did I do to deserve you?"

Marty laughed. "You were very bad in a former life, darling. No two ways about it."

She nipped his bottom lip between her teeth. "I hope that doesn't mean I can't be equally bad in this one."

Everything was good.

* * *

><p><em>See – I told you I wanted Kensi and Marty to be happy. And they are. For the moment.<em>

_I had a hell of a job from stopping Sam from walking in there though._


	4. Chapter 4

_Today's instalment – a little later than usual, on account of a busy day, rushing from meeting to meeting. Kensi and Deeks are still being very good and not going off in strops at one another (wonder how long that will last?) and Sam is tactful enough to give them some space. It's probably all too good to be true, isn't it?_

* * *

><p>Having lingered for so long in the gift-shop that the sales assistant was plainly starting to wonder if she should call security, Sam felt compelled to buy something. The rows of furry animals had little appeal for him, but there was just a chance that Kensi might like one. Not a very big chance, sure enough, but women did seem to have an inexplicable fondness for stuffed animals. One of his most successful Valentine's gifts to Denise had been a teddy bear holding a red plush heart. Not that he'd gone out and bought it: the bear had been an unwanted gift to Macy, who'd tossed it in the trash can, which luckily had been empty. Still, it was a nice enough bear, if you liked that sort of thing. Which Denise did. And it would have been a shame to let it be thrown out with the garbage. Plus, Sam had clear forgotten about it being Valentine's Day, so it seemed fortuitous. But it probably wasn't Kensi's style. Eventually, after much soul searching he settled for a wicker basket containing a selection of aroma therapy oils. At least Deeks could have some fun with those, just supposing they'd managed to patch things up.<p>

Still, even after all the time he'd taken, Sam felt it was expedient to knock on the door and wait for a response before entering. There was no need to take unnecessary risks after all. Thankfully, Kensi and Deeks were just sitting at the window, and both were decently clothed. Even if Kensi did seem to have omitted to put on a bra. Sam prided himself on his observational skills. The best thing of all, as far as he was concerned, was the lack of tension in the air. They both seemed relaxed and happy. And then Sam caught the way Deeks was looking at Kensi and rapidly revised his first impression. He'd been wrong – there was still one hell of a lot of tension. Sexual tension, that was. And that was bad. Abdominal surgery wasn't something you just bounced back from in a couple of days. It looked like they were going to be in for an enforced fallow period. Mind you, the way Deeks' eyes lit up when he saw the scented body oils made Sam wonder. The kid could be remarkably inventive.

"That's really sweet of you Sam!" Kensi was genuinely touched by Sam's thoughtfulness.

"It's good to see you sitting up and looking better. Don't take too long in coming back, alright? It's not the same without you."

"Translation – Sam misses you," Deeks said helpfully. "Just a bit longer and we'll have him talking like a regular human being."

Kensi thumped him on the arm. "You need me back so I can keep him in check, don't you, Sam?"

"Well, there is that. But we do miss you." He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "So get well soon. Or I might just be forced to teach your boyfriend a lesson about respect."

"Fiance." Deeks corrected as Kensi waggled her finger at him. "Don't tell me your observation skills are starting to slip?"

"I put it down to the stress of living with you and being exposed to your singing. Do you really know what you're letting yourself in for Kensi?"

"I could always ask Denise for some tips," she suggested sweetly, managing to stifle a yawn.

"We'd better get going." Deeks could remember how tired you could get after surgery. "Want me to help you back into bed?"

"Could you?" God, she hated feeling so helpless and having to rely on other people. But, on the other hand it was good have someone there to help her, who didn't have to be asked, who knew how she was feeling.

Sam suddenly remembered just how little she was wearing and hastily made his excuses. A couple of minutes later, Deeks emerged, a broad smile on his face.

"She said to tell you that you might want to me singing lessons as a wedding present. And also that Denise is to come over and visit once she gets home."

Now, there was a thought: Kensi and Denise together, exchanging stories, comparing notes. Sam was pretty sure his life wouldn't be worth living after that encounter. He'd successfully managed to keep his private and personal lives completely separate for years, but it looked that was all about to end. What would it take to persuade Denise not to reveal too much? Sam mused on this all the way back to the Mission, while Deeks sat beside him, grinning like an idiot and jiggling his legs in an incredibly annoying way that reminded Sam of his young son. It was only with great difficulty that he restrained himself from smacking the younger man on the knee and telling him to sit still and be a good boy.

Callen was sitting frowning at his PC screen when Sam and Deeks finally arrived around midday. He looked up and pushed his chair away from the desk. "How's Kensi doing?"

"Engaged and desperate to get out of the hospital," Sam said.

"While I'm working out if those two statements are related or just happen to be in one sentence by accident, we should go upstairs to Ops. Hetty said she wanted to see us as soon as you guys got back."

Deeks was already halfway up the stairs. "New case?" he asked hopefully, like some eager kid.

"He hasn't stopped bouncing around since we left the hospital. It was like driving with Tigger sitting shotgun."

Callen shot him a sympathetic look. "I know where we can get some Valium – we could always spike his coffee?" he said in an undertone, before raising his voice. "New case. Dead marine. And two more in serious condition. From the Wounded Warrior Battalion."


	5. Chapter 5

_I hope everyone is enjoying this latest addition to my K/D universe. It's coming up to my one-month anniversary here on fanfiction and I'm just having so much fun it is untrue! _

_So: if you like – please review! It really does make a huge difference to hear from you. And if you've got any suggestions or ideas – please share. I just cannot guarantee the characters will do what I want them to, as they have this habit of going off on completely different tangents to the storyline I'd planned. And then there is the small matter of the evil plot bunny, who insists on making everything go horribly wrong._

* * *

><p>"That sucks. Haven't those guys been through enough?"<p>

"You'd think so. But it gets worse." Callen looked grim as he walked in behind Sam.

That was an understatement, as it turned out.

"Our Marines were in the Mojave National Park, having a week-long expedition as part of their rehabilitation programme. This was their final outing before being assessed for return to active duty. They were pretty much back to full-fitness. They were camping out, working together as a team and doing some rock climbing while they were there." Eric ran through the facts succinctly as Hetty stood by, with an interested expression on her face. "Today they were tackling Clark Mountain, when something happened. The facts aren't clear – but it left one man dead, two in critical condition and one stranded halfway up a rock face. The wounded men have been evacuated, but preliminary word is that they're not expected to survive. They're awaiting the ME before removing the dead Marine."

"And the survivor?" Callen asked, hoping Hetty wouldn't expect her agents to drive 250 miles and then shinny up a rock wall. If memory served him correctly, you were talking about nearly 8000 feet of pretty interesting climbing. It wasn't something he particularly relished at the best of times.

"A specialist team is on their way as we speak," Hetty confirmed. There was a slight hint of regret in her voice.

Sam had a far-away look in his eyes. "There is some sweet climbing on Clark. Mountains and desert make it a special place. It's hard to beat if you're looking for sport climbing."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not," Deeks mumbled. It was beginning to dawn on him that Sam and Callen would be in their element, doing all their iron man stuff, strutting around with all their service experience, while his experiences of living in the wild were strictly limited to Boy Scout camps. Somehow Deeks had the very definite impression that they wouldn't be sitting around a campfire making s'mores that evening. Which was a pity. Some things were too good not to indulge in. He listened to the rest of the conversation with a growing sense of dread. Hetty seemed very familiar with the terrain and Deeks wondered if she might like to take his place, while he stayed safely on the familiar territory of LA.

"I remember it being rather chilly on the upper elevations," she mused with what struck Deeks as inexplicable fondness. "So make sure you take warm sleeping bags with you. And maybe some long underwear? And, of course you'll require a four wheel drive to get to the base of the mountain. Although the nine mile hike from the road is rather bracing and would certainly prepare you for the ascent. You might want to consider the best approach to take once further details of the exact location are forthcoming."

"I wish I was coming with you," Eric said enviously. "I've been hankering to do Here Comes the Bride on the Monastry Tier ever since I did Religious Man a couple of years back."

Clearly, this actually meant something to Sam, who nodded appreciatively. It was strange to think of Eric getting all decked-up in climbing gear, rather than sitting in front of a bank of computers, which just proved how people continued to surprise you, the more you found out about them. Deeks just wondered why they were so hung up on the idea hanging in thin air, supported only by thin ropes, or even worse, their fingertips, when Las Vegas and all its attractions were less than fifty miles away. There was absolutely no contest, as far as he could see. Vegas won every single time. He was just starting to dream about the honeymoon suite in the Bellagio, with Kensi wearing nothing except a feather boa and a pair Jimmy Choos, when someone jabbed him in the ribs.

"You coming, Deeks? We'd better go and get our equipment together."

Well, if that had actually been a serious question or if there had been any chance of saying "no way", he would have leapt at either opportunity to get out of this. Deeks pushed the luscious vision to one side and tried to look eager. It was a small relief to notice that Callen looked less than enthusiastic too. Somehow, the prospect of sharing a tent with two men wearing long underwear was not filling Deeks with unrestrained joy. Not when he could have been in a Vegas hotel room – with or without Kensi.

"Would you like a brief practise on the climbing wall before you depart, Mr Deeks?"

There was a glint in Hetty's eye that Deeks had learned to be wary off. Her prowess there was legendary. Particularly the way she regularly kicked Callen's butt. It was either a form of ritual humiliation, or perhaps her way of underscoring exactly why she was in charge.

"I think I'll manage, thank you." Yeah, he'd manage alright, by the simple expedient of making sure both feet were firmly on the ground at all times.

She looked slightly disappointed, as if longing to add another scalp to her long list of trophies. That was interesting – Deeks had never pegged Hetty as being particularly competitive: she'd always seemed quietly confident in her own abilities. Clearly, he'd underestimated her. "And do be careful on the approach. This is just the time when the Mojave rattlesnake is coming out of hibernation and they have a tendency to be somewhat tetchy if disturbed."

Okay, that got his attention. The Vegas fantasy was well and truly dispersed. "You are kidding, right?" God, he hated snakes of any description. This whole operation was developing into his worst nightmare.

"I never joke, Mr Deeks. You should be aware of that by now."

Deeks judged that this probably wasn't the best time to suggest that Eric might be better suited to this particular case. It seemed prudent to change the subject. "I'll call Kensi from the car. But maybe one of you could go and visit her tonight?"

"I'll go. I was hoping to have a chat with Kensi anyway." Nate must have been lurking outside, for the timing of his entrance just was a little too good to be true. "Good luck and have fun, guys. I'm kind of envious of you – it's going to be beautiful up there are this time of year.

It seemed ironic that everybody staying in LA seemed to want to go to Clark Mountain, while Deeks would have given his eye teeth to have stayed put.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Wherein things start to go ever so slightly wrong…**

"Come on Deeks, we've got equipment to get ready." Sam was clearly champing at the bit to get going. How excited could you get over a bunch of ropes, Deeks wondered. The answer, it appeared, was very excited indeed, if you were Sam. And that was before he got started explaining about carabiners and anchors. As the pile of equipment grew, Deeks was struck by the fact that it looked rather like the preparation for a mass fetishist party.

"How much climbing have you done?" Callen was peering closely at a ascender.

"Not much."

"How much would not be?" Sam enquired, pulling harnesses and safety helmets out of a storage locker.

"Other than rapelling training? Well, the climbing wall, of course, but not much apart from that. I'm pretty much a complete novice." Okay, that was out in the open. Maybe it might just get him out of this gig? If there was a God.

Sam shot him a look of disbelief. "You are kidding, right? You mean me and Callen are going to have to haul your butt up that mountain?"

"Or I could stay down the bottom. Your choice." Deeks felt he should explain. "I'm a cop, remember There's not a whole lot of demand for mountain climbing in downtown LA."

"You're not a cop any more. You're one of us. We're going to have to get him trained up, Callen." Sam was suddenly aware that his partner had been very quiet all morning. "Callen?"

"What? Sorry, I got a bit distracted."

"Sam was just saying how you and he were going to take me out for some male bonding over rugged outdoor pursuits, after all this is over." Deeks said smoothly. "I can't wait."

"Sounds good." Callen was still only paying minimal attention, deeply intent on minutely examining a belaying device. "Look, I'm not sure I'll be going with you guys. I don't seem to be able to see properly out of my right eye." He looked directly at Sam. "Everything is all blurred and I know Deeks is over there to your left, but I can't see him at all. So, at the moment, I'd just be a liability."

"How long has this been going on" Sam demanded, trying not let concern colour his voice. All he could think was that this sounded really bad.

"It started on the drive here this morning. At first I thought I was just tired. Then I couldn't read my computer screen properly and it's got worse since then." Callen was determined not to panic, but the whole thing was really getting to him. Had it been pain, that he could have dealt with. But these visual disturbances were something else altogether. He was as close to being terrified as he ever had been. Sure, he'd had the occasional problem as a result of concussion in the past, but this was something altogether different and the fact he had no frame of reference just made it worse.

"You need to go to the hospital right away," Deeks said firmly. "Don't worry about us, don't worry about the case – just get yourself checked out." He patted Callen on the shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine, but you can't take any chances. And get someone to drive you."

"I'm having trouble with my eyes, not my brain," Callen grumped, not entirely convincingly. Sam – don't let the kid break his neck on that mountain, will you? Kensi will kill us and we'd probably have to look after his dog."

Deeks affected a shocked look. "You think I'd trust Bobby to either of you two guys? Get real."

"Shit." Sam waited until Callen was safely out of earshot before venting his feelings. "No offense, Deeks, but Callen was kind of essential."

"None taken. And I agree. We're going to need a decent climber. And we've got two choices. You're in command now – so it's your call."

He got a withering look. "Like there's a choice?"

"Technically, there is. You too chicken to make it?" He made a briefing flapping motion with his elbows.

"I've made up my mind. Unless you think differently?"

"They don't pay me enough to make that kind of decision. Or to explain why I made the decision, to a certain person." It was hard to keep the smirk of his face, so Deeks just gave up trying.

"Don't look so smug. I think I prefer you when you're pouting. So, are you coming with me to break the news?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Deeks assured him.

Hetty listened carefully as Sam explained their dilemma, and his proposed solution. Her face was carefully impassive, but her head seemed to droop just a little. "You are requesting that Mr Beale assist you?"

"He's an experienced climber and he knows Clark Mountain already. We need him, Hetty." Sam regarded her gravely. "You know that he's the best person, now that Callen is out of commission."

"I can volunteer, if that makes your decision any easier." Eric was trying very hard not to appear too eager, but his enthusiasm was obvious.

"That won't be necessary. Permission granted, Mr Hannah." She tried not to think too much about Callen and what might be wrong, but Hetty was aware that any permanent compromise to his vision could be devastating to the man. And she was not sure that the team could survive his loss. Callen was the glue that held them together, the man who effortlessly commanded respect, a born leader. She had nothing but the utmost respect for him and that was not an accolade Hetty bestowed lightly.

_Oh dear – poor Callen. But he was rather overdue for a maim, not having really suffered much at all, unlike the rest of the team. Maybe he and Kensi could end up as room-mates in hospital? And I thought it would be rather interesting to let Eric show a different side to his talents. But Hetty's not happy, is she?_


	7. Chapter 7:

**Chapter Seven: Callen realises everyone has a breaking point**

"It's really good to see you, Callen. Is the get-up your way of expressing your solidarity, or are you undercover?" Kensi was still recovering from the shock of see Callen appear in her room in a hospital gown and slippers.

"It's not by choice – they insisted." At least there was one good thing, he thought. Kensi was looking much more like her old self. Even with one eye out of commission, Callen could see the diamond ring sparkling on her ring finger. It looked somewhat incongruous combined with that ratty old shirt of Deeks' but he could appreciate the sentiment involved. All of a sudden, he wished that Nico was here.

She looked at him, sensing something was off – way off. "And "they" would be who, exactly?"

"The doctors. More precisely the eye surgeon." His hands clasped briefly together as he moved to stare out of the window. "I woke up with this blurry vision in my right eye, Kensi and it's got worse. Seems I've got a detached retina and they want to operate as soon as possible, to try to save my sight." It didn't sound any better saying it out loud than it had been hearing the news. Sure, the operation was couched in all sorts of positive language, with the rates of success loudly prominent, but the risks were also explained. And he needed his eyesight, if he was going to continue to be a field agent. You couldn't let some half-blind guy loose with a lethal weapon after all. "Anyway, I asked if I could wait in your room. I guess I needed the company."

"I'm glad you're here." Kensi looked at him carefully, trying to judge his mood from his back, which was all she could really see from her chair. It was not a particularly illuminating prospect. "Are you scared, G?" she asked softly.

"I'm terrified out of my wits." He turned around and walked over to her chair. "And I knew I had to be with someone who understood." Callen let one hand fall lightly onto her shoulder.

"Stop being so macho, for just once in your life, will you? There's only you and me here. Nobody else. Nobody will ever know." Kensi reached up and took hold of his wrist, ignoring the way her wound protested at the action. "We all come to a point where we just need human contact, G. It's not a sign of weakness – it's a sign you're alive and living in the real world, where people hurt. I know how you feel – I really do. I was there myself, just a few days ago." She cocked her head to one side. "If it makes a difference, I can ask you for a hug? If that makes it easier?"

In an instant, he was on his knees by her side, burying his head in her lap, one arm clasped around her waist, his other hand holding onto her own. She let him stay like that, gently stroking his hair and whispering "It will be alright. You will be alright," over and over again until the nurse came in to announce it was time for the operation.

Callen scrambled to his feet and brushed his hand briefly across his face. He managed to fix a mile on his face ad brushed his lips across Kensi's cheek.

"Stay strong, Callen."

"I will, Kensi. And – thank you." He gave her a brief grin and walked slowly out into the hallway.

She leant back in her chair and looked out of the window, letting her gaze drift up at the sky, where the sun was shining brightly and suddenly knew she had had enough with hospitals and their artificial air. More than anything Kensi longed to smell the scent of newly cut grass and feel the sun on her face. That would do more to help her healing than any amount of drugs. One more day, she consoled herself. Just one more day and then Marty would take her back home to Malibu and they could begin to get on with their lives.

It was only when Callen was almost at the doors of the operating theatre that he realised he had completely forgotten to tell Kensi that Deeks and Sam were going to be away for at least two nights, potentially longer.

* * *

><p><em>Poor Callen! I could not resist the temptation to show his vulnerable side. Still, I think he will probably look rather fetching in an eyepatch, don't you?<em>

_I have just realised that __Hetty and Nico may very well have a battle royal to see who gets to nurse him. Personally, I have to say my money is on Hetty but who can tell?_

_And how will Kensi react to the news of this latest mission and the prospect of Deeks plummeting 8000 feet down a mountain? Will she get sole custody of Bobby?_

_All these questions and more will be answered at some point!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Three Men in a Car or Road Trip Confessions**

Trying very hard to look on the bright side of things, Deeks reflected that at least Callen being out of commission meant that he'd been able to snag the front seat in the SUV, relegating Eric to squeezing himself around the piles of equipment that were occupying most of the back seat. That was pretty much the only positive thing he could think of in connection with this whole case. The prospect of mountain climbing, being stuck camping out in the back of beyond and no way of talking to Kensi without at least two pairs of ears hanging on his every word, just ready to cast them right back at him easily outweighed any possible benefits.

"Did you call Denise?" he asked Sam, wondering if it might be possible to engender a little brotherly feeling.

"Before we left. She's used to it. I'm not saying she likes it, but she's more or less reconciled to me going off at short notice." That had taken at least three sessions with their counsellor to establish. Denise had finally told him how much she resented the fact Sam could just drop everything and disappear for days at a time, leaving her to try to continue normal life at home for Crosby, juggling her job, the house and their son.

"_One of has to be there for Crosby," Denise had said bitterly. "And it's me by default every single time. And it's not easy, being the one left behind, with all the normal worries. And all the time I'm wondering if this time will be the time you don't come home. Do you think I sleep much when you're away? Do you have any idea how many times I've paced the house, rehearsing how I will tell Crosby he's never going to see his Daddy again?"_

That confession had just about done for Sam. But the truth was that every time he was on an operation, that case became the sole focus of Sam's life. He'd been aware that it must be hard on Denise, but she'd never actually come out and said it directly to him, until they were forced to acknowledge the gulf that had opened up between them and try to find some way of bridging the chasm. They were both at fault – Sam for not realising, for not asking her and Denise for not telling him. Those sessions had been hard for both of them. Sam knew that at some point he would have to decide which was more important: his job or his family. This way of life couldn't continue indefinitely, not if he wanted to be any kind of a father to his son, not if he wanted to actually be there for Denise and Crosby. Much as he hated to admit it, the counselling was actually helping Sam to see things more clearly than he had for years. It was one thing being on active service, where you knew how long you would be deployed for, and your family knew too. But working in OSP meant he could be called away at any moment. Something would have to give at some point. But there was always one more operation; one more pressing set of circumstances; one more reason to delay making a decision. But the time was coming, he knew that. One day, he would have to make that decision, before it was too late and Denise had to finally make that speech to Crosby.

Sam glanced at the younger man sitting beside him. "At least Kensi understands what it's like," he offered. "And you can actually talk about things to her. You've got a release valve there."

"I guess." Deeks enjoyed talking about his feeling as much as the next man, which meant that he tended to avoid the subject unless absolutely pushed into a corner, or under the influence of medically-prescribed drugs "Or there's always the ocean. Nothing like getting pummelled by a fifteen foot wave to put things into perspective and make you feel glad to still be alive." That had always been his escape: the infinite open space of the sea. Deeks could spent hours just watching the waves roll in, counting the white horses as the spume flooded up the beach and then ebbed slowly away. There was something hypnotic about that. And the exhilaration of when you caught that perfect wave and felt yourself being lifted up and then hurtling forward at high speed, never quite knowing when things were going to go horribly wrong and you'd be spewing sea water out of your lungs was second to none. His head always felt clearer when he was at the beach.

"You should try giving the speedbag a shot sometime," Sam suggested. "Get the rhythm going and let your mind float away."

Eric sat in the backseat, listening avidly, his ears having misheard "speedbag" for something else altogether. This was the first time he'd ever heard them talking about how their work actually affected them. His own way of winding down was somewhat less orthodox and Eric was almost positive Sam would disapprove. Deeks – well, there Eric was less certain. Everything about Deeks strongly suggested that the guy had enjoyed more than an occasional toke over the years, and yet, he was a cop. There was a certain dichotomy there and one which Eric felt might be worth exploring in more depth on some later occasion, without the presence of Sam Hannah, Mr Straight As A Die. Eric took his relaxation seriously and he didn't want to say anything that might adversely affect his ability to do so.

"Haven't you ever thought about taking up climbing, Deeks?" he asked curiously, thinking of the release it gave him, the natural high that was almost as good as the other sort.

Deeks turned around and gave him a very old-fashioned look. "Never. And I don't intend to change that on this trip either. Understood?"

"Wimp," Sam commented laconically. "California pretty-boy with no sense of adventure." He glanced at Eric in the rear-view mirror. "Feel free to join in any time you fancy, by the way."

"Yeah, these trips usually descend into "let's make Deeks feel inferior" sessions. Any minute now Sam will start going on about some obscure code-name and it will turn out to be a coy reference he and Callen have coined for a bathroom break. I was kind of hoping you might be the fall-guy on this trip, but it looks like you're the climbing-god, so I guess I'll just sit here and pout attractively."

"Ignore him, Eric. That's what Callen and I usually do."

Eric judged it safe to join in. "What about Kensi?" He raised one eyebrow quizzically. This skill had taken months of practice before the mirror to perfect and he was inordinately proud of it. "What does she do?"

"Kensi can't keep her hands off him. But we don't talk about that, do we Deeks?"

"No, we don't," Deeks said emphatically. "Mainly because you are insanely jealous of how hot we are together. However, talking of Kensi…" He pulled his smart phone out. "I thought I'd just let her know I won't be going to see her tonight."

"Don't tell her Nate's coming a-visiting," Sam advised. Like the rest of the team, Kensi tended to avoid chats with Nate like the plague. They all liked Nate – they just didn't like the way he was able to get into their heads, sometimes in such a subtle way that you only realised the import of what you had said hours or even days afterwards. And then you woke up in the middle of the night and cringed with the realisation that once again Nate had done it yet again.

Deeks shot him an incredulous look. "I'm not completely stupid, Sam. I don't want Kensi discharging herself against medical advice, which is exactly what she'd do if we gave her advance notice. I want her fit and well by the time I get back." His face relaxed into a slightly goofy grin at the thought.

"See what I mean?" Sam asked and Eric tried not to blush too furiously. He'd had a thing for Kensi since the first moment he'd met her. Clearly she had a thing for slim, blond guys too – only she'd gone for the wrong one. If Deeks wasn't such a nice guy, it would be very easy to hate him.

_You can tell it is a Friday – two updates in one day! Five reviews today has really spurred me on after a long hard week at work._

_I have to agree with one of my wonderful reviewers (): they really should have a special room permanently reserved for the team: the OSP Outpatient Pavilion Services (OOPS) perhaps? Or maybe Hetty should recruit a special paramedic to be permanently on-call? But then, generally the team doesn't get maimed quite so much in the show as they do in my stories. Which is a pity, really. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Sam sees things clearly, but Callen isn't quite so lucky**

"You know how I promised I'd bring you pineapple jello tonight?" Deeks tried to keep his voice as low as possible, aiming for the illusion of privacy, as he called Kensi from his cell. "Well, I'm going to need a raincheck. We're on our way out to the Mojave National Park and it looks like we could be a couple of days." He listened for a second. "No, of course it's a case, Kensi! You can call Hetty if you don't believe me."

"He's lying!" Same said loudly. "We just fancied a road-trip."

"Yeah, that was Sam. His idea of what passes for humour. Uh huh? Sure, I know – it's going to be a blast. Nothing I like more than scaling the odd mountain before dinner. What? Oh come on, Kensi. Of course I'll be careful. And yes, I know I'm not a climber. Sam's already gone over that." He handed over the phone with a sheepish grin. "She wants to talk to you, Sam."

It was only with great difficulty that Sam restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "How are you doing, Kensi? We wish you were here, by the way. Especially Deeks… Really? How did he look?" He looked over at Deeks and mouthed _"Kensi saw Callen"_ while listening to her account. "Any idea how the operation went? Okay, keep us updated. Speak later." He ended the call and handed the phone back.

"Thanks. Kind of you to ask if there was anything else I might have wanted to say." Deeks felt a token protest was justified under the circumstances. "So what's the news about Callen?"

"Detached retina. Which doesn't sound good, does it? Anyway, they were operating asap. He seemed positive about things. You know Callen." Sam stared very hard at the road ahead, trying not to let his mind wander. Christ, what if Callen never regained full sight? What would he do? And, more to the point, what would Sam do? They had been partners for so long they had forged an almost symbiotic relationship. Callen was more than a partner – he was part of Sam's life. It was inconceivable to even imagine a situation where Callen was not by his side. But if Callen had only one good eye… He sneaked a guilty look at Deeks, sitting beside him. It wasn't Deeks' fault that he wasn't Callen – it wasn't a reflection on him. It was just that Callen was different and Sam didn't see how he could ever be replaced.

"Did Kensi say any more?" Eric leaned forward, interspersing his head between the front seats. "Will he be able to see properly again?"

"It's Callen we're talking about here," Sam said firmly. "He's come through much worse. Of course he'll be fine. It's just one of these things. Kensi said it can just sometimes happen out of the blue. G was just unlucky." How come Callen could manage to survive a hailstorm of bullets that should have killed at least two men and then be felled by something so simple like a detached retina? It didn't seem possible. And, if it wasn't possible, then it wasn't going to happen. It was as simple as that. All it took was a positive mental attitude. And he could rely on Kensi and Hetty to see to that. There was no need to worry. Absolutely no need at all.

* * *

><p>The lines on the ceiling tiles gradually swam into semi-focus. Callen blinked a couple of times and the lines resolved themselves into clarity. He was just about to give a shout of relief, when he realised that he couldn't open his right eye at all. Fighting back the panic he raised his hand to his face and felt the bandage encircling his head.<p>

"No peeking."

"Kensi? Is that you?" He could hear her voice, but there was something stopping him from moving his head.

"It's important you lie still, Callen. The nurse was very insistent about that. And she's seriously scary, so do as you're told, okay? I'm still not quite up to kicking butt yet. Even if I did sneak your jello. I couldn't resist it. Sorry about that."

"I can live without jello, funnily enough." There were other things on his mind. "Did they say anything?" They must have given him some interesting drugs, Callen thought, because his voice sounded as if it had a decided quaver in it.

Kensi used her hands to push herself up from the chair. It was getting a bit easier to move around now, although she was aware of a nagging pinch in her stomach if she made a sudden movement. Still, all-in-all, it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd feared. She had even taken a look at the wound and was surprised at how neat and small it was, with only five sutures. It felt like a lot more. "The doctor said everything went well, but you have to stay lying down." Her face suddenly loomed into Callen's vision, long locks of hair falling forward and brushing his cheeks. "Cool pirate look, by the way."

"I don't think Johnny Depp has got anything to worry about," Callen managed, just as it hit him, totally without warning, a familiar head-swimming, gut-wrenching nausea. "Kensi – can you get a nurse in here? Quickly?" Callen had never been good with anaesthetics and this time was no exception. He had a sinking feeling that things were about to get very messy indeed.

* * *

><p><em>A small smidgeon for Dot-a-Poke before I call it a night and head off to bed. Hope you enjoy.<em>

_And remember – reviews gladden my heart!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: A clear-cut case of murder**

Kensi moved over to the door as quickly as she could, which now was a semi-fast shuffle. "Could we have some help in here?" The urgency in her voice meant that two nurses immediately left their station and rushed into the room. Various unpleasant noises could be heard and Kensi felt her won gorge rise in sympathy

"Miss Blye? Should you really be here?" Hetty materialised at her side in a disconcerting manner. Kensi realised her reactions were way out whack, as she'd had no warning of the older woman's presence.

"My room's just down the hallway." She gestured with her hand. "And the doctor said I should try to get a little exercise, so I was just visiting Callen and… And why am I explaining this to you?"

"Because I am concerned?" Hetty suggested gently and crooked her arm invitingly. "Why don't we go back to your room and we can talk properly?"

Kensi correctly interpreted this as an invitation she could not refuse and conceded with good grace. Apart from anything else, she was starting to feel quite tired now. All things considered, it had been a fairly stressful day.

Shortly after exiting the I-15, the road started to deteriorate, and soon they were bumping along a dirt track. Ahead, the crags of Clark Mountain loomed high. "Beautiful!" Eric leaned back in his seat, beaming with enthusiasm. "Isn't it amazing? I can't wait to get started climbing."

"Absolutely." Insincerity rang out in Deeks' voice.

"Light's going to start fading soon," Sam warned. "After we've checked in with the on-scene guys we'd better set up camp." He concentrated on the road ahead, although it was really more of a track, pieces of which had been washed away by recent rainstorms. It made for challenging driving and even with the benefit of four wheel drive his wrists were beginning to ache. When they finally reached the parking area, the Medical Examiner was just getting out of his van. Dan Jacobs was a familiar face to both Sam and Deeks, a middle-aged man with a dry wit and a love of jazz.

"No Hetty? I'm disappointed. I've heard of her mountaineering exploits - they're the stuff of legend. Is there any truth in the rumour that she once assumed cover as a Sherpa and got to the summit of Everest?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "You never can tell, with Hetty, Dan. Best to assume everything is true and even then she'll still surprise you." He'd heard some wild rumours about Hetty over the years, most of which had turned out to be based in fact. Callen had once described her as an enigma, wrapped in a conundrum, and even that probably underestimated her. Once again, Sam's thoughts fell back to his partner, and he wondered how long it would be before they got any defininte news about him. "It looks like you boys are prepared for a longish stay," Dan remarked, rubbing his hands together and casting an eye over the piles of equipment. "It's getting cold already, in the shadows, so I hope you brought something to ward off any night chills?"

"Deeks has enough plaid shirts to stock a shop. A second-hand shop."

"Whereas Sam was strangely insistent on me wearing long underwear. I'm just hoping he didn't pick the all-in-one variety with a flap in the back." He looked across enquiringly.

"What else? In a fetching pale pink. You'll look adorable."

Deeks decided to ignore this. "I just brought along some extra insurance in the form of a bottle of 15 year old Bowmore."

"I like the way you think, Marty." Dan's eyes widened appreciatively as Deeks pulled the bottle of single malt out of his rucksack and he handled it with reverence. "I'm almost tempted to camp out with you, just to get a taste of that. But I'll manage to resist. I'll think of you boys tonight, when I'm tucked up in my nice, warm, comfortable bed."

It was only with considerable difficulty that Deeks repressed a groan of envy. "We could swap, Dan? Of course, it would be a hardship to tear myself away from here, but I might just manage it. I'll trade you for the Bowmore?"

"Nice try, Marty – but no coconut." Dan started off up the path that led to the base of the limestone crags, leaving his assistant to follow along behind, carrying the equipment.

"Eric- could you stay here and scout out a suitable camp site? Deeks and I will go on up with Dan." Judging from the information they'd received, the body of the dead Marine was going to be an horrific sight – bad enough for hardened agents to deal with, far less Eric, who had no previous experience. Sam didn't want to expose him to anything like that unless it was strictly necessary.

As it turned out, that was a wise decision. Dan's preliminary examination revealed that he had died of a broken neck, while sustaining multiple injuries on his plummet down the mountain. His face was battered beyond all recognition, but the worst thing was the number of broken bones that had pierced his skin. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had been alive during the fall and had not died until the final impact with the ground.

"Not much doubt about what caused him to fall." Sam's voice was grim and his features were set as he held up one end of a climbing rope. "A clean cut. This was deliberate." He tried very hard to push down the feeings of anger and regret that were simmering in his gut. "This guy had been working for months to get back to his unit, and just when he was almost there, someone killed him."

"And two of his buddies." Deeks looked up from studying the screen of his smart-phone. "Ops has just confirmed they both died of their injuries en route to the hospital. We've got a triple homicide on our hands."

Dan straightened up. "Are you okay with me removing the body? I want to try to get out of here while there's still enough light. That dirt track was bad enough in full daylight. I don't want to even think about attempting it in the dark."

"Go ahead." Sam looked up at the mountain. "We've still got to go up a bit further and see how the remaining Marine is doing. He's been stranded somewhere on the third tier for over eight hours now." He glanced across at Deeks. "Alright with you?"

"Of course. The sooner we get going the better."

The time for joking around was gone. They started up the path, Sam taking the lead as the sun began to sink in the sky and the limestone wall became flushed with rosy light.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Between a rock and a hard place**

"This day just gets better." Sam shoved his hands deep into his pockets, aware that his fingertips were freezing. He just wanted to get all this over and done with.

"Onwards and upwards?" Deeks said, looking up at the mountain and wondering why on earth anyone in their right mind would want to climb something like that. He'd never understood the lure of rock climbing and now he was being faced with the realities of it he liked it even less.

"Something like that. With any luck, they'll have persuaded our guy to give himself up and we can all just go home in the morning." Sam trudged drearily upwards. There was none of the joy of the approaching challenge that he normally felt in the mountains.

"NCIS – Hannah and Deeks. That's our guy up there?" Sam squinted upwards and saw an impossibly small figure suspended against a sheer face of rock.

"That's him." The mountain rescue leader looked them over. "Please tell me you're not going to insist on anything being done tonight? Because I hate to disappoint you, but there is no way I'm risking my guys' lives up there."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sam assured him. "Just wanted to get a feel for the situation. Has anyone been able to make contact with him?"

"We've tried, but he's ignoring us. You can't see too well from here, but there actually a pretty decent cave just to his left and he's got his gear stashed in there. My guess is that he'll hole up there for the night and then get going at first light."

Deeks considered the situation. "That sounds about right. So we want to be in position by then?"

"How come it's suddenly "we" when all the way up it was "Sam and Eric"? Got a sudden urge to scale a mountain, Deeks?"

"It's more that climbing harness you showed me. Some seriously sexy gear, Sam. How could I possibly resist? Make sure you take some pictures of me all geared up to show to Kensi, will you? She'll be so impressed. And make sure I have a decent funeral. Some New Orleans jazz would be nice. Or maybe the Mozart Requiem? I'll leave the choice to you." He turned and started to make his way back down the gully, glad of the hiking boots, as the ground underfoot was treacherous.

Sam followed him back down. "We'll make a climber out of you yet."

"In your dreams, Sam. I'll stick to surfing. Now that really impresses the girls."

A snort of derision greeted this. "Yeah, right. You forget that I've seen Kensi's face when you try to get her to go out with you."

"And I've seen her face when she unzips my wetsuit." Deeks was grinning broadly. "Like a little girl unwrapping her Christmas presents. Anticipation. Expectation. Realisation. Adulation." He paused for a second, reliving the moment. "You really want to consider surfing, Sam – it's the nearest thing to good sex you can get. And then you get really good sex afterwards." By this point the grin on his face was so broad that Sam could almost see his back molars.

Sam knew he should just say "too much information" and change the subjects, but it had been a hell of a day, he was cold and he was tired and, besides which, he'd always thought he might look really cool on a board. With any luck, he could get Denise interested too. She'd look mighty fine in skin-tight neopryne that left nothing to the imagination. "So, tell me more about that wet suit…" The rest of the walk back down passed very quickly and very pleasantly.

"You and Callen do intense," Deeks remarked as they neared the camp. "That's not me. Maybe it's because I've not got a service background?" The approaching dark seemed to invite confessions.

"Or maybe you're too damn lazy?" The scent of woodsmoke was drifting towards them and in the distance Sam could see a faint glow and sparks floating upwards in the dusk. "It's easier just to go with the flow, eh? But that's what you want people to think, isn't it That's not the real Marty Deeks. Not the one I know, anyway."

"Come on, Sam. I have hidden shallows, you know that. But… just because I smile a lot and make bad joked, it doesn't mean I don't take all this seriously." There was an air of uncertainty in his voice. "But you have advantages that I'll never have – I've got street smarts, but you've got a whole lot more, Sam. And I've learned a lot from you all."

"Don't even bother trying to weasel your way out of the climb tomorrow by flattery. You're education is just beginning."

"As is yours – in the fine art of learning to appreciate a beautiful single malt from Islay, loving aged in an oak cask, and redolent with the finest aromas of peat and rich fruit overtones."

"You got that off the label, didn't you?"

"Do you want to drink my whisky or not, Sam?"

"Do you have to ask, Marty?"

They sounded like a bad double act from some sixties tv show, Sam thought. But sometimes you had to break the tension operations like this caused, by any means at your disposal. Deeks wasn't Callen, he never would be, but if Sam had to make a choice, Deeks would be right up there, at the front of the queue.

"I can smell cooking!" Deeks was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. "What do you reckon Eric's got ready for us?"

"Don't ask. He'll have rehydrated some of the ration packs. It doesn't matter what it says on those labels – everything inside looks and tastes the same." Sam spoke as one who had sampled many varieties over the years and found them all wanting. The ration packs were filling and they were nutiricious, but that was all that could be said for them

"As in disgusting?" Deeks could feel his appetite waning.

"Exactly."

"Good thing I brought the whisky then."

"Exactly."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Night on a Bare Mountain**

_I've been longing to get to this chapter, just so I could use that chapter heading! Three updates today – and a new story started as well! Two chapters of Like A Hurricane are now posted. I'd not planned to do two stories at one time, but this terribly sweet little plot bunny kept begging me and he had the nicest eyes…_

_As ever – if you like – please review and let me know._

* * *

><p>Sadly, dinner was as inedible as Sam had predicted, but they choked it down and washed away the strange chemical aftertaste with generous slugs of neat malt whisky, despite Deeks insisting it was meant to be drunk with water and slowly sipped and savoured.<p>

"This is expensive stuff! The creation of years of love and patience – not some cheap rot gut. This is all the way from Scotland."

"Bring some shortbread back too, on your next visit," Eric advised. "And maybe a kilt." He caught a guilty look that flickered across Deeks' face. "No? Please tell me you don't have a kilt?"

"I'm not going to say anything. And I sincerely hope you will do the same. But I would just like to remind you that I am the person holding the bottle of whisky, which is the only alcohol we have with us. And while I'm normally a pretty tolerant guy, I do have my limits."

"So do I," Sam informed him. "And the prospect of you in a kilt is more than I can bear. I'm wiping it from my memory immediately." He held out his cup and nodded his thanks when Deeks filled it. "Besides, it could be worse, Eric. He could have brought back a set of bagpipes instead."

Deeks began to regret being so generous with his booze. "It could still be worse, Sam. I could start singing. I mean, here we are, all sitting round a camp fire, what could be more natural than a sing-song?"

"There isn't enough whisky in the whole of Scotland to make that tolerable," Sam assured him, and knocked back the rest of the whisky just to emphasise his point. "I'm going to check in and see if there's any news on Callen." He got up and wandered a short distance away, immediately feeling the chill night air once he was away from the heat of the fire. Pulling up his jacket coller against the cold, he placed the call, hoping for some good news.

"Likewise. Except I'm calling Kensi. And then Bobby."

Eric was confused. He wasn't quite sure if the it was the whisky or the whole buzz of being on an operation or even the prospect of some amazing climbing in the morning. And while he did have a spliff tucked securely away, it was untouched. "I thought Bobby was a dog?"

That earned him a hard look. "He is. And he's remarkably intelligent dog. Understands every word I say, never criticises, never nags, has a bit of a hygiene problem sure enough, but you can't have everything in life, can you?" Although Marty actually felt that he pretty much had everything he'd ever wanted. Even the prospect of clinging on to a rckface by his fingernails couldn't deaden the joy he felt at just being alive and having Kensi in his life.

"Callen said he keeps shagging all the cushions."

"So he's highly sexed. He takes after his master, that's all." There was a wide smirk on his face as Marty walked in the opposite direction to Sam.

* * *

><p>"I really need a favour, Nico – and you're the only person I can ask." Kensi leant forward and instantly regretted the impulsive action as her stitches pulled painfully. "Can you go shopping for me tomorrow?"<p>

"Sure, honey. Just tell me what you need?" Nico was glad of the distraction. She always kept her cell turned off when she was practising and had only learned about Callen's operation a couple of hours ago. He'd suffered such a bad reaction to the anaesthetic that the doctors had been forced to sedate him to give him some relief from the nausea and all visitors were being actively discouraged. She'd been practically climbing the walls with worry.

"You know that film – Bridget Jones?"

"Sure – you want me to go rent it for you?"

"Not exactly." God, this was embarrassing. "It's a bit more personal than that. You see, where my wound is, well, it's sort of on my bikini line, right? And that's not good. So what I need you to do is go buy some of those "big pants", okay? You know what I mean?" Kensi could feel her cheeks burning scarlet.

"I've got the picture. Come up to your belly-button, right? Sure, I can do that. But on one condition." Nico looked very serious. "You have to promise me that you will burn them the moment you're better. And then let me buy you some new underwear. I was in Agent Provocateur the other day and you wouldn't believe what I saw!"

"You're a lifesaver," Kensi murmured gratefully.

"But just remember that Mikey is no Hugh Grant and he's not going to be turned on by those big pants. At least I hope not."

Kensi judged it best not say anything more on that subject. She rather hoped that Marty would be turned on by whatever she was wearing. Or wasn't wearing, whichever the case might be. She'd found a rather wonderful sporran tucked away in a drawer and been spending idle moments mulling over how she might surprise him one evening.

* * *

><p><em>Honestly - what is it with Kensi and Marty? Even when they're apart, they're thinking about sex. I just don't understand it and wouild like to make it clear that they forced me to write those bits. This story was not meant to be mildly smutty, honestly it wasn't. All the other mildly titillating pieces in my other stories were put there under duress too. And as for what is going to happen in <strong>Like A Hurricane<strong> - well, I don't understand how such a sweet-looking little plot bunny can be so naughty._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: The Only Way Is Up**

_Chapter 13- unlucky for some. But as I would hate to be predictable, I have refrained from any maiming in what follows. However, the evil plot bunny has a familiar glint in his eyes at the multitude of interesting possibilities that the mountain presents, so let that be fair warning to any readers of a nervous disposition._

"You could have told me Sam snored," Eric huffed. "Between that and the rain battering down on the tent, I hardly slept at all."

Deeks did not look noticeable perturbed. "My bad. Regrets and all that. Not that Sam would ever admit he snores – he maintains it's just a deviated septum. But seeing as I've been kept awake by him before, I made sure I got the one-man tent and had some extra insurance into the bargain." He held up his IPod. "Sounds of the ocean from one of those free CDS they give away as relaxation aids. I might suck at mountaineering, but at least I know how to be prepared for most eventualities."

"I was asked to leave the Boy Scouts. We had a slight disagreement over concepts." Eric picked up the coffee pot. "Still some left – do you want a refill?"

"Are you kidding? I've only had two mugs so far. That's barely enough to get me moving." Deeks held out his mug and savoured the aroma. The crags and ridges of Clark Mountain loomed overhead, rising into ominous-looking clouds. "What happens if it rains when you're up there?" he asked curiously. Judging by the sky there was a storm on the way.

"We get back down as quickly and as safely as we can. With or without our guy." Sam stretched sinuously and had the satisfying sensation of feeling the bones in his neck click back into alignment. On damp mornings like this, he really felt his age and remembered once again why this was said to be a young man's game. Eric and Deeks looked bright eyed and bushy-tailed in comparison. "And less of the "you" by the way."

"I thought we'd agreed that the serious climbing would be left to you and Eric?" Deeks protested.

"Which it will be. Only there's a route that even a city-boy like you can manage to scramble up without doing yourself too much damage. That'll take you to the top of the second tier and you can then rappel down, while Eric and I actually do the hard work." Sam had spent a lot of time studying the maps and this seemed like the best plan, covering pretty much all eventualities. Apart from the fact that they had a clearly insane marine to try to persuade down a mountain. His back-up plan, if everything went horribly wrong, was to knock the guy out and then lower him to the ground in a sling.

"Sounds about right. You do the grunt work and I come swinging down like some action hero. I can live with that." As long as it didn't mean edging his way inch by inch up a sheer cliff face, Deeks would accept it. He phased out as the conversation moved onto mystifying jargon, that presumably meant something if you got a kick out of scaling vertical walls for the sheer fun of it. Give him the beach and the ocean and few breakers any day. Followed by a long hot shower. It was freezing up here before the sun had started to rise.

"Mind you drive your anchors in properly," Eric warned as they set out.

"I know," Deeks said wearily. Sam had gone about that at great length, like he was worried Deeks would somehow miss the importance of this, despite the fact his entire body weight would be dependent on the anchor points holding. Funnily enough, Deeks was more concerned about the harness doing some major damage to his manhood. Where upon Kensi would kill him. Mind you, he might just be tempted to let her, if the worst came to the worst and that happened. He checked it a dozen times and got Sam to do the same. There was no point in leaving something as vital as that to chance.

They made good time and arrived at the base of the second tier just as a shaft of light started to brighten the morning sky. As Deeks swung off to the south to begin his solo hike, Sam and Eric moved northwards until they were inposition at the base of the Wave Wall.

"Our guy is still holed up in his cave. You guys are good to go. I've got a couple of marksmen standing by and we'll fire off warning shots if he tries anything clever." The Marine commander looked as if he wanted to salute, but managed to resist the temptation. "Good luck!"

They were going to need it. The rock was slick with rain and it made getting a firm handhold difficult, especially with fingers that were half-frozen. Sam let Eric take the lead on this section, having already identified a spot where they could change over so that he approached the cave first. Their main danger came from the possibility of missiles being lobbed down at their heads, but hopefully the marksmen would take care of that.

Watching Eric climbing was a revelation – his movements were quick and economical and he had a near-genius ability for finding finger-holds and placing himself so that the next sequence of moves could be achieved. Sam watched as he scaled the limestone wall swiftly, realising that it was incredible skill that made the ascent look so simple. He had a new admiration for the man and made a note to be sure to tell him this. Eric climbed with the same concentration he gave to his normal work – complete and focused. He had moved into a zone where he could see the mountain as if it were a diagram placed before him and he relished the challenges it gave his mind and his body. Despite his concentration on the climb, he was aware that at last he had an opportunity to show just what he was capable of on a physical level, to demonstrate that he wasn't just some geeky guy who sat staring at a computer screen all day. It felt good to have a skill that he could actually put to practical use and show just what he was capable of.

At the same time, Deeks was ploughing up a steep slope littered with loose rock underfoot and several points where a plunge over the side would be only too easy. If this was what Sam described as a scramble, he would hate to see that a testing route would be. But their whole plan depended on precision timing and there was no time to spare, so he set his jaw and continued the relentless trudge upwards. At least if he was concentrating on propelling himself op the slope there wasn't the opportunity to contemplate how terrifying the next part of the task was going to be.

By the time he finally it to the top, Deeks' breath was coming in short, hard gasps and he was grateful that the next part of his mission was on relatively flat ground. Moving as close as possible to the edge of the narrow ridge, he peered down, searching for clues as to where he should position himself before beginning the descent. Some 500 metres to the north, two small figures making their way slowly up the rock-face and below stood a Marine detachment. All he had to do was to move into position and then check that he was optimally placed before driving in the anchors and await the signal before stepping out into the void and letting himself do a controlled plummet down the mountain. It all sounded perfectly simple, the sort of thing that people like Sam and Eric did a dozen times before breakfast, without turning a hair. Only he wasn't Sam and he certainly wasn't Eric, who he could see was moving up the limestone as if he was Spiderman. And the cold morning air was freezing his butt off., not to mention other more vital parts of his anatomy.

"Next time," he vowed making his way gingerly along the ledge, "Next time you are doing this Callen, whether you are half-blind or not." Not being able to see the breath-taking drop down to the base of the mountain might actually be an advantage. But it would soon be over, and they'd have their guy and could go back to LA where Callen would be waiting, with eyesight fully restored and Kensi would be ready to come home and he'd take her upstairs to their room, where the bed would be already turned down and just waiting.

In his mind, Deeks could see the way Kensi's olive skin would glow and contrast with the smooth white perfection of the sheets, the way the afternoon sun would highlight the curves of her body and the way her eyes would dilate wide with pleasure. If that wasn't an incentive to get this whole bloody thing over and done with and brought to a successful conclusion, he didn't know what was. Whenever a mission ended successfully, it brought with it an incredible rush, so that you felt you could run until daybreak and then keep on running right into the end of time. Or have incredible, mind-blowing sex that lasted until you had to beg for mercy and then lie in a boneless heap, not quite sure if you were alive or dead and not quite caring either way. Either way, it took you right up to the edge of sanity and beyond. Which was probably why he kept on doing stupid things like this, things that any sane man would simply walk away from.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Through A Glass Darkly**

_In honour of one of my wonderful and much appreciated reviewers, who just happens to be a nurse, a new character is named in her honour. And, having had several nasty maims and operations to repair the same , I am so grateful to all the nurses who've helped me over the years. Of course, as anyone who has ever been subjected to their tender mercies will testify, the scariest people in the medical profession are the physiotherapists._

_Anyway – enough of my ramblings – read on and enjoy. And maybe even review?_

* * *

><p>Callen had spent an equally unpleasant night in the hospital. Not content with vomiting copiously, to the extent where he had to be given the type of anti-emetic drugs normally given to chemotherapy patients, it had been decreed that it was necessary for him to lie face down for at least a week in order for the surgery to be as effective as possible. As he was accustomed to sleeping on his back, this had been a major problem and the combination of the two factors meant that he had very little sleep indeed. Added to which, while all the doctors were agreed that the surgery had gone as well as could be expected (a phrase that was nicely designed to be totally noncommital, no doubt for legal purposes) they could give no guarantees that his eyesight would be fully restored. It was cold comfort to be told that he had the benefit of one eye with twenty-twenty vision and it was rare for another spontaneous retinal tear to occur in that eye. In consequence, his normally positive mood had completely disappeared.<p>

The only positive thing about the whole squalid farce was that at least this morning he was no longer setting Olympic records in dry-heaving and that Nurse Melkatt seemed to think the worst was over and that there was no reason Callen could not be allowed to have visitors. The thought of seeing Nico was incredibly exciting, until he realised that in his prone position, "seeing" was perhaps not quite the right word to use. However, at least one positive thing was happening. Lying face down, staring at the floor was incredibly boring and the worst thing was that it gave Callen's mind the chance to float off and dwell on all number of unpleasant issues he would much rather have avoided thinking about altogether. Such as the prospect of an enforced and unwanted major career change and, which was probably worse, the prospect of driving a desk for the rest of his working life. But given the only other alternative seemed to eking out an existence on disability, it was not entirely clear which was the lesser of the two evils.

And the other thing that stalked his thoughts with nimble-footed glee was the worry about his team. Sam and Deeks were out there on that damned mountain and he should have been with them. And it wasn't anything to do with how capable Sam was – because the guy was damn good: Callen had trusted him with protecting his back too many times to count. He'd literally put his life in Sam's hands and he'd not been let down. No, that wasn't the point at all. What niggled him was the thought that he should have been there to look out for them and that because he was lying here, he had failed them. If anything happened, Callen reasoned, it would be his fault. He was good at guilt-tripping himself, having had years of practice.

He knew Sam was a great leader, and that it was only fair he should have this opportunity to prove himself. Callen was even pretty sure that NCIS had offered Sam his own team, after the success he'd made when Callen had been shot and spent four months off work. But deep in his heart, Callen knew that he wasn't ready for Sam to take over running **his** team. And that was yet another stick to beat himself over the head with. Or poke in his eye. Whatever.

All nurses have skills. They deal with situations which would send most other people running away in the opposite direction as fast as possible and then they comfort and console their patients and their families, no matter what. They are the patient's first line of help, the person who is there in the deadest part of the night when sleep is impossible and only the very worst thoughts consume the mind and at all the times in between. And, over the years, some nurses develop extra skills, and can discern a problem that is not vocalised. All it took was for Nurse Melkatt to take one look at Callen's back to realise that something was badly wrong.

"Did the doctor tell you about the success rates for this operation?"

"Yes, he did." Callen spoke in a dull monotone, clearly indicating his wish to be elft alone.

She didn't give up that easily and persevered. "And did he tell you that the operation went perfectly that this was as near to a text-book case as he had ever seen? And that the prognosis was excellent?"

"Yes, he did. But he couldn't promise a full recovery." Callen shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you promise people 100% success in your line of work?" Jane Melkatt enquired in an interested voice.

That got an immediate and indignant response. "That's different. Completely different. I'm dealing with people's lives and I can't ever give those sort of guarantees."

"And yet you told me that your eyesight was essential – that in effect it was your life. But you expect the doctor to give you exactly the sort of guarantee you expressly refuse to give to others." She moved closer to the bed and placed her hand on his arm. "I know you're angry and scared and you've got every right to be. But that's not going to help. It could even impede your progress. Focus on the positive aspects. Concentrate on the fact that there is every chance you are going to make a full and complete recovery."

"Instead of lying here feeling sorry for myself?" There was more colour in his voice, the hint even of self-mockery.

"Instead of being frightened. Don't let the fear take over. Give yourself a chance." She patted his hand briefly.

"I'm pretty good at beating myself up," Callen admitted.

"Well, stop it right now."

_Wow! She stands no nonsense! And here was me thinking she was one of the less scary nurses. Talk about misjudging a situation!_

"Yes, ma'am! Promising to do as I'm told and be a good boy."

Jane could hear the laughter and judged it was safe to leave. "And, by the way, there's a lady waiting outside to see you. Shall I send her in?"

That could either be very good or very bad. And Callen wasn't about to leave anything to chance right now. "Young or old?" It would either be Nico or Hetty. And he wasn't quite sure he was up to seeing Hetty at the moment.

"Young and very beautiful. And very anxious to see you."

"Send her in." The smile was back in his voice. Nurse Melkatt thought her patient had a lovely voice, and the rest of him wasn't too bad either. It was a pity about his hair though.

"If NCIS gave out prizes for rear of the year, you'd be a shoo-in. But it's going to make things a little difficult, isn't it?" Nico sat down on the side of the bed and caressed his rump affectionately. "I never could quite work out why these hospital gowns gaped up the back, but it all makes perfect sense now." And her hand was a warm and soft and incredibly tantalising. Some states probably had a law against what she was doing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Live And Let Die**

Callen clenched the muscles of his butt reflexively and then managed to relax and enjoy the sensation. Okay, it was a little unusual, but he was open to new experiences and Nico's fingers were incredibly skilled. He could feel his black mood floating away into the ether. Maybe he and Nico could patent the idea and then franchise it out as an alternative relaxation therapy for stressed-out patients? If he had to leave NCIS then it might be as well to have a few options available. And considering how good this felt, it could just be the money-spinner he needed. Unless that was the drugs talking? On reflection, Callen thought it probably was.

"So, have you given any thought to where you want to go when they discharge you?" Nico was lying on the floor, staring up into his eyes. It didn't bother her at all that she was probably ruining a brand-new designer dress and if anyone had suggested it was a most undignified thing to do she would have just laughed and told them she didn't care. If Callen had to lie flat on his stomach, then she would lie on the floor, just so she could see him when they talked. It all made perfect sense to her.

"I could go to my house, only there's a bit of a lack of furniture," he confessed.

"Like you've only got the essentials" Nico asked, mentally compiling a shopping list.

God, this was embarrassing. "More like it's almost completely bare. Basically, it's totally empty. Just my sleeping bag, a toothbrush and stuff like that. I've not got much in the way of personal possessions."

"Has it got wooden floors?" For some unfathomable reason Nico looked incredibly interested and Callen wondered what was running through her mind. She didn't seem to find his living arrangements at all strange, but then she was accustomed to being on tour and living out of a suitcases. Or rather a series of suitcases, garment bags, trunks etc, as by no stretch of the imagination could she be said to travel light. In fact, Nico probably had enough stuff for both of them, and then some. Still it was a refreshing change. Callen had brought a couple of dates back to his house, but they'd quickly lost interest when they saw the state it was in. One had even refused to even step over the threshold, accusing him of being some sort of freak. She'd probably thought he had some sort of torture chamber in the basement.

"The original hardwood floors – but they could probably do with refinishing. It's all a bit scruffy."

This didn't bother her either. "Wooden floors and no soft furnishings – could it be more perfect?" Nico raised her head carefully, mindful of the underside of the bed, and kissed him. "You don't mind, do you? I'm mean, it's nice enough at Mikey's place, but the sound quality is kind of lacking.

Callen felt that he was lacking something too – as in he had no idea what she was talking about. "You want to let me in on this, Nico? Because something has got you all excited, and given there's six inches of mattress separating us, I'm almost certain it's not me."

She kissed him again. "Your house will be perfect for my music. There is enough space for a grand piano, isn't there?"

"There might not be much room for anything else, but yes, that should be fine." If Nurse Melkatt hadn't been so insistent on the fact he had to stay lying down for the best possible chance of recovery, Callen would have bounced out of bed and hugged her and then made violent love, right there on the hospital floor. "You really mean that? Like, we're sort of moving in together?"

_It's been over six weeks. I've broke my jinx._

"A Bechstein is kind of a major commitment," Nico said slowly. "Are you sure you're ready?"

Like she had to ask? Callen couldn't believe that not only did Nico not think that having a totally empty was downright weird, she actually thought it was wonderful. "I'm more than ready. I can't wait."

Sure, there were a lot of things to sort out, and he still didn't know what was going to happen with his eyesight, but for the first time in years, Callen actually wanted to think about the future and make plans. And if there were hurdles along the way, this time he knew that there would be someone by his side to help him make the leap into the unknown.

Nico lay back down with a contented sigh. "This is crazy, isn't it?" She was smiling, though and that completely took the edge of her words. "We must be mad."

"So we're mad? Who cares? Do you care?"

"Do you have to ask? Honey, all I want is to be with you. And maybe play some piano too."

"Yeah I can see how you have to keep those fingers toned. You wouldn't want to lose that flexibility or tone, would you?" It was hard to leer with just one eye, but Callen gave it his best shot.

Sam's plan had been for Eric to take the lead on the first part of the climb, and then they would switch over, so that he approached the cave first. There was no way he wanted to expose Eric to any unnecessary danger – the guy was already going way beyond his job description and he certainly didn't want to put him in any unnecessary danger. Once Sam was in position, Eric would contact Deeks, who would then rappel down and the twin assault should give them an advantage over the gunman. It was a good plan, the best that could be achieved given all the circumstances and it had a decent chance of success. But Sam hadn't counted on one thing, namely the bullet Emily Brandel's thug had shot into his foot a few months before. The injury had healed beautifully, but his foot suddenly started to cramp unmercifully during the climb, sending his whole leg into spasms. Sam tried everything he could think of to lessen the pain, but it was no good. Each time he tried to resume the ascent, once again the vicious pain struck.

After a few minutes, Sam realised he had to re-evaluate all his plans and come up with a workable alternative, that didn't include him. And given that he had one climber, who wasn't even an agent, and one agent who wasn't a climber, his options were exceedingly limited.

"Shit. Eric, we've got a problem."

Eric retraced his way back down and listened intently as Sam outlined the change of plan. At the end, he didn't ask any needless questions or raise any protests, but just gave a brief, somewhat distracted smile and resumed climbing, uncomfortably aware of the gun safely stowed in a jacket pocket. It really hadn't seemed the right time to tell Sam that he'd never even fired a BB gun, far less a Sig Sauer.

"Deeks? Are you in position?"

"Ready and waiting. Are we good to go?" Poised on the edge of the cliff face, Deeks tested his weight on the line one more time, feeling the straps of the harness tighten against his thighs. The anticipation was already sending his adrenaline levels spiking.

"Hold still. There's been a change of plan."

"We've got a plan B and you didn't tell me? Shame on you, Sam." He relaxed slightly and took a step forward so that both feet were on solid ground. There was no sense balancing on the edge of a sheer cliff face if you didn't actually have to, after all.

"You know how you always wanted to play the action hero? Well, now's your chance to play James Bond." Sam explained the dilemma he found himself in and the work-around. You couldn't exactly call it a plan, not even Plan Z. But it might just work.

"As long as I get the girl when the end credits roll, okay? And a cool theme tune."

Wriggling his foot a little to try to ease the tense muscles, Sam grinned despite himself, knowing that Deeks would probably moan all the way home and then some. And, which was worse, maybe even subject them to his own unique version of_ Live and Let Die_. In a strange sort of way, Sam was almost looking forward to hearing Deeks managing to sing both sharp and flat in the same bar. Because that would mean they'd all survived.

* * *

><p><em>Not quite a literal cliff-hanger, but almost! Anyone think Deeks might just get a tiny bit maimed? Any objections if he does? <em>

_The evil plot bunny has a slightly manic look in his eyes right now._

_Please review - real life is going slightly mad at the moment and I need some encouragement_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: The best laid plans of mice and men**

_A small update at an insanely early hour of the morning before heading off for another fun-packed day reading court briefs. You know I'd much rather be doing this. _

* * *

><p>"Sam? I'm nearly there. Can't hear anything coming from the cave." Eric sounded slightly out of breath, a combination of the exertion of the climb and either excitement or nerves, or maybe even both. "In position and awaiting signal."<p>

"Stay put until my word." Sam took a deep breath, realising how much easier it was to be the person involved in the action, rather than the man watching it all. He didn't like this feeling of powerlessness; he liked to be in control.

"Sam: awaiting your confirmation to go." Sam looked up and saw Deeks was in position on the ledge on top of the tier, feet braced and leaning back into thin air.

"Marine unit: request intell. Any eyes on the target?" Sam just wanted to be sure. He was very glad there were sharpshooters in position at the base of the mountain, as they comprised his only insurance policy. And right now, he needed all the security he could get.

"Negative. No sighting."

"Green light, guys. Repeat: green light. On my word: go, GO, **GO**!"

Eric reached out for the handhold that would take him to just below the mouth of the cave and started the final manoeuvre, the one that would leave him completely exposed. So this was how it felt being a decoy, luring the guy out of his lair. It felt… he felt nothing. Which was strange. Eric had been prepared to feel terrified, to feel enervated and invigourated, but he was not prepared for this utter neutrality and objectivity. His senses were all jangling and he had never felt quite so alive. This was living. In that moment, he finally understood how the team could keep taking on these insane missions. It was like an addiction.

At the same time Deeks bent his knees and then sprang outwards, using every particle of muscle strength to push himself as far away from the cliff as possible. There was a knack to this, he recalled, a rhythm you had to get into to make the rappel work to your advantage. The music ran through his head, as clearly as if his beloved IPod was playing as he started to fall backwards, using his hold on the rope to control his descent.

_Comes a time_... Bounce and back out. Not too bad, even if the shockwaves that run through his body with the impact his feet make against the limestone nearly takes Deeks by surprise. And the blood starts to rush through his body.

_When you're drifting_… Bounce again and let the rope run smoothly. And this is possibly the most stupid thing he has ever done. It looks great in the movies, but is real life. Deeks wonders what the hell he is doing.

_Comes a time_… Keep up the momentum, but stay in control. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Deeks thinks that under different circumstances this might be fun.

_When you settle down_… nearly there now

_Comes a light_… and Sam's voice is screaming in his ear, telling Eric to go, to make the final manoeuvre in the game. Deeks is suddenly aware that the barely healed-wound in his arm is screaming with the exertion he is putting on it and it feels as if the scar is going to burst open. Concentrate. Deal with that later. Push the pain down.

_Feeling's lifting_… and this is it. There's no time for thinking. This is the time: the time for action. No regrets. But shit, his arm hurts.

As he swung smoothly outwards for one final time, Deeks moved his hand for a second and grabbed his Beretta out, before quickly taking control of the ropes again and adjusting his body weight. Checking beneath him, he can see Eric was bracing his hands against the lip of the cave mouth and then pulling himself up, exposing himself completely. Deeks is still on the outward part of his swing when one second later, Eric goes flying backwards, falling into the void, as a boot connects squarely with his jaw. Sam's voice is screaming in his ear again, but the Marine's timing could not have been worse. He has revealed his position just in time for Deeks to make one final adjustment as he starts to travel right into the cave at high speed

_Lift that baby right up off the ground… _You really shouldn't have done that my friend.

It is as if time slows down almost to the point where it is standing still. This time there is no rock-wall to take the force of the impact as Deeks flies into the cave, legs braced and gun poised in his hand. It's as if there is a whole orchestra of angels singing him on and right now, this is the sweetest feeling in the whole world. And it feels even sweeter when his feet thunder into the Marine's chest and send him crashing onto the ground, his head cracking off the ground.

"Mission complete. Target secured." Out for the count, more like. Deeks unclipped the ropes from the harness and vowed that once he was back down on the ground he would never, ever do anything quite so stupid ever again. Until the next time. His legs were tremling with the stress and strain and also with the sheer relief of knowing that it is over and he was still alove. The burning sensation in his arm is mounting again, but that not important. He can deal with that later. Right now, there is only one thing on Deeks' mind.

"How's Eric, Sam. Sam? Is Eric alright?" Deeks ran to the edge of the cave and peered down, his heart in his mouth as he desperately scanned the sheer limestone walls. "Do you copy, Sam?"

_Lyrics from **Comes A Time** belong to Neil Young (of course) and are borrowed with grateful thanks._

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear. On behalf of the evil plot bunny, I would like to apologise. He is singularly unrepentant, of course and claims I am his muse. As if. He should be so lucky.<em>

_But ERIC? How could he maim Eric? Or has he killed him?_

_Please review – I love reading your thoughts and suggestions. Which is why poor Eric ended up in the firing line this time. So it's not my fault at all. _

_Hope to update again tonight!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Hanging Around**

_Okay, so just to recap: Kensi was stabbed at the end of __**It's Just My Heart Talking**__, nearly required a hysterectomy and is still recovering; then Callen had a detached retina, and then surgery to repair it and doesn't know if he'll regain his sight. Meanwhile Sam's bullet wound sustained in __**Former Glory**__ is coming back to trouble him, as is the infected bullet wound Deeks suffered from in the same story. And now Eric is injured and hanging half-way down a mountain. Put like that, I really do sound quite blood-thirsty, don't I?_

_But as you all know by now, it is all the fault of the red-eyed plot bunny, who has already read this instalment and is terrifically happy with it. I hope you are too. _

_There may very well another instalment later tonight._

* * *

><p>"The rope's held – that's all I can tell. He's not responding." Sam was trying very hard to keep his voice calm and even, as he surveyed the heart-stopping sight of Eric's clearly unconscious body swinging like a pendulum at the end of the climbing rope. By a rough estimation he had to have fallen at least twenty feet and Sam knew that whatever injuries he'd sustained, Eric would also be badly bruised by the harness.<p>

"Okay. You want to alert a medical team?" Hell's teeth, this was bad. And it looked like he was going to have to suck down his fear and play the hero, no matter how much he detested the idea.

Sam heard the ominous tone in Deeks' voice. "Already done, buddy. And exactly what are you planning? I can probably make it up there in about 15 minutes. You just sit tight. And that's an order."

"No go," Deeks said in a matter of fact voice. "Eric's unconscious, he's bleeding from his mouth and nose and his heads hanging back. That means he could choke to death on his own blood. So we've not got much of an option, have we?" He scanned the cliff face carefully. "I've got a good place to put my anchor in, Sam. It'll be fine." Crossing his fingers briefly, Marty Deeks hoped he sounded more confident that he felt.

"You'll need more than one anchor to hold your weight, let alone Eric's," Sam warned. "You're not a climber, man and you don't know what you're doing, or how dangerous it is." Over the relay he could hear the sounds of banging, as Deeks got set up.

"Pity I've only got the one anchor, isn't it? And I know exactly how stupid I'm being, believe me, not to mention how dangerous it is. But we don't really have much of an option, do we? If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears. Have you?" Despite his best efforts, there was a hopeful note in this last question.

"I wish I had." There was genuine regret in Sam's voice. "I'm going to start climbing up, so I can give you what assistance I can."

"I'll need it." Deeks had no illusions about his mountaineering abilities, or more precisely the lack thereof. While he might just be able to get to Eric, he had no idea how to get him down this damned mountain.

"You be careful, Deeks. You understand me?"

"I understand, Sam." He looked down at Eric, still dangling helplessly and was very careful not to look any further. If he just concentrated on scaling those twenty feet orf so, he might just make it. Because, even knowing next to nothing about climbing, even Deeks could see that his solitary anchor point was probably not going to hold for very long if his whole body weight was dependent upon it. Eric had rigged his own lines up so that he was currently suspended by at least two anchors, maybe even three, and that had undoubtedly saved his life. But there wasn't any other choice that Deeks could see. It was trust his luck to one anchor or nothing. And that wasn't an option. Clipping on to his frail rope, he filled his lungs with air and gingerly began creep down the limestone wall.

_Jesus Mary and Joseph. People do this voluntarily? For fun? They must be bloody mad. Jesus wept._

Deeks felt like weeping too, as he moved one hand, then another, searching for the meagre grips that were all the unforgiving rock afforded him. And then came the terrible part of moving his foot and waving it blindly around in the air in a desperate attempt to try to find something that would give him any sort of purchase, before repeating the same motion with his other foot. More than once, the projectiles he tried to balance his weight on simply broke away and it took all his strength to cling on and not follow then downwards. He'd never been so scared in his life and within a few minutes his nails were broken and his fingertips were rough and bleeding. His downward progress was painfully slow, but at least he was making progress, moving inch by painful inch down the mountain and trying to ignore the pain in his arm which was now moving swiftly to the point of being almost unbearable.

Turning his head a little, Deeks could see that he was almost in reach of Eric – and his friend didn't look good. Blood covered Eric's face and it looked as if his nose was broken and the bone misplaced. Even worse was the dark blood bubbling out of his mouth and the gruesome choking sounds that accompanied this.

* * *

><p><em>All I can say by way of mitigation is that I've not killed off a major character. Yet.<em>

_You have been warned!_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen: Hang Onto Yourself**

_The fierce bad plot bunny has been roundly spanked and sent to sit in the corner. Only he is now gnawing the skirting boards in frustration. And the dog was sick this afternoon. But, on the bright side my bathroom refit is going well and I might even have a working shower by Friday. There may therefore be gratuitous shower scenes written over the weekend._

_This chapter title is one of my all-time favourite songs, from the amazing album "Ziggy Stardust" (by David Bowie. Obviously. Best album ever in the history of music). Now, if only I could come up with a storyline to use a line from the second verse: "we move like tigers on Vaseline." The plot bunny is just shaking his head in disbelief and says he reckons I've smoked that spliff Eric had stashed away. I wouldn't do such a thing, mainly because poor Eric is going to need it, seeing the state he's in at the moment._

_**Huge**__ thanks to everyone who has reviewed and I've taken the liberty of incorporating a few of your suggestions. _

* * *

><p>Okay – so he'd made it this far, which was pretty much a miracle, Deeks thought. But there was the small problem that Eric was hanging at least four feet out from the wall of the cliff. And as Deeks himself was currently clinging on to the mountain for grim death, there was therefore something of a dilemma. Which was putting it politely.<p>

"Sam! Are you going to be here any time soon? I could do with a hand."

"Five minutes. Maybe six." Sam's breath was coming in short puffs. "How's Eric?"

"Not good. I'm going to have to try to reach out and grab him, 'cos I really don't like the way he looks." And that was an understatement if ever there was one, he thought ruefully. Scrabbling desperately, Deeks managed to ram his right foot into a small crevice, while balancing his left foot on a minute ledge that even a baby bird would have disdained to perch on, all the time thinking how incredibly stupid this was. But at last he was in position, and the fingers of his right hand were wedged into this skinny little crack and Deeks just knew it was all going to go wrong as he reached out towards Eric, straining every muscle in his body, his fingers and toes tensed up in a desperate attempt to stop himself from tumbling down to earth and leaving the messiest corpse in the history of NCIS. And his right arm was now on fire and it felt as if the internal structures were staring to tear apart, sinew by sinew and the sensation was too gross for words. But his left arm was moving through the air, moving towards Eric, who was still slowly swinging around on the end of his rope and, as if by some miracle, just when Deeks thought that he was going to have to either give up trying all together, he managed to get a grasp of one boot. And that was all he needed.

There was a God after all, and he was smiling down upon Marty Deeks as the fingers of his left hand closed around Eric's ankle and slowly began to pull him to safety. Sure, there were a couple of nasty moments when his right arm threatened to collapse entirely, but someone was watching over Deeks as he painfully reeled in the limp body of NCIS's genius Tech Guy. At some point Eric's glasses had fallen off and his face looked strangely naked without them. His nose and mouth were covered in blood, his eyes were shut and his jaw looked strangely misaligned. But he was alive.

"Got you, buddy!" It was hard not to sound triumphant, and Deeks failed utterly. Few things had ever left him feeling so exhilarated as this simple act of reaching out and pulling a friend to safety. Balancing perilously, Deeks managed to pull Eric close enough to wedge his body between his own and the rock and then carefully tilted Eric's head to one side. In a few moments his breathing seemed slightly less gurgly. Okay, that probably wasn't the right word, but it was the best Deeks could come up with, under the circumstances. It still wasn't brilliant though. The ABCs of immediate aid went flashing through his head.

_A - Airway. Right, I've got to make sure there's nothing blocking his nose and mouth. And seeing as how his nose is broken, that means I'm going to have to check his mouth._ Cautiously, Deeks slipped one finger into Eric's mouth and immediately encountered the problem: broken teeth.

_Geeze, he must have kicked you right in the face. No wonder you're in such a mess. Sorry about the state my fingers are in, but I clean forgot to put my latex gloves in my jacket this morning. Still, I'm guessing you'll forgive me. _His finger swept the debris out of the way and the difference was immediate as the choking noises stopped completely. Eric's breathing didn't sound normal by any stretch of the imagination, but then most people with a broken noise tended to be snuffly at best. And it was a hell of a lot better than it had been.

_B is for Breathing – and that sounds a lot better. I'm doing fine here. As long as I don't think about how my right arm feels like it's going to drop off at any second, I'll be fine. And they can go tell that one to the Marines. Any Marines. Even the ones standing safe and sound at the bottom of this bloody mountain. C – what the hell does "C" stand for? Cardiac? Christ knows? No – wait a minute. It's coming back – circulation. That's it. C is for Circulation. _

It took a couple of attempts for Deeks to manage to find a pulse in Eric's neck, mainly because his hand was trembling so much. During the process, he could see a large bruise forming on the other man's jaw, along with a large lump.

_Looks like you've broken your jaw, Eric. Looks pretty nasty too. And I haven't the slightest idea what to do._

"Are you ever going to join me, Sam?" he said out loud. "I really could do with some help here."

"Keep your hair on. I'm nearly there."

Deeks looked down and saw a hand appearing. "You took long enough. Did you stop for coffee and donuts along the way?"

"Don't start pouting on me." With a final effort, Sam hauled himself up and clipped onto the top anchor, and then banged in another couple for good measure. "You want me to take over for a bit?" Deeks looked completely wild-eyed.

"Indulge yourself." Once relieved of his burden, Deeks also secured his own rope to the new anchors, and felt a tinier bit safer. Cautiously he removed his right hand from its death grip and flexed his fingers, feeling the pain shoot down from his shoulder. "Seeing as how I've done all the death or glory stuff."

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe I'll buy you another bottle of that Bowmore malt. You've not done badly for a complete rookie, I suppose." Sam was examining Eric as best he could, given the circumstances, frowning as he assessed the injuries. The banter with Deeks helped to take his mind off things, but he was internally beating himself up. Sam was supposed to be in charge, to have been the team leader and just look at what had happened. He'd let a novice climber and a technical geek take all the risks. It was just a miracle they were both still alive, even if Eric was battered halfway to hell.

"Make it two and you've got a deal." Deeks was finally starting to relax, now that Sam was there. He was starting to believe that they might actually get back down and off this God-cursed mountain in one piece – if you didn't count Eric's broken jaw. "Sam? How are we going to get back down"

Sam grinned. "Slowly. Very slowly indeed. And haven't you forgotten about something?"

"Such as?"

"One Marine, in a cave, about twenty feet due north of us. Were you intending to leave him there?"

"I hogtied him. Best I could do under the circumstances. But I'm not going back up there. No way. It was bad enough coming down – going back up will be worse." Deeks was not averse to pleading. But one look at Sam's set features told him he was on a hiding to nothing." Aww – come on Sam, you have to be kidding me?"

"Sorry, kid. I wish I was. But the fastest way to get Eric medical help is for is to haul him up to the ridge on top of that tier – the one you rappelled down. We can use your existing anchors and ropes. The Marine medics are already on their way up."

"I'm never going on another date with you Sam, I swear I'm not. You just don't know how to treat a nice boy like me, do you?"

"I'll ask Kensi for some pointers, shall I? Maybe wear a cowboy hat? I hear she really likes that." Sam flashed a quick grin before they started to crawl back up that bloody mountain. It was highly gratifying to see the way Deeks went bright red.

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear, poor Eric really is in a bad way, isn't he? Sorry about that. It's funny how nobody complains when I maim Deeks – in fact people even beg me to maim him some more. I'm just trying to work that one out… <em>


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen: Mountain High**

If anything, the climb back up was even worse, as they didn't just have to think about getting themselves up the rock, but Eric as well. He was starting to come round, which gave their efforts an added impetus, because the thought of struggling with a semi-conscious man was not one that either Deeks or Sam wished to contemplate. The whole business was risky enough without that added complication.

"I'll go first," Sam decided. "And when I've got into the cave, I'll haul Eric up."

"Fair enough." Deeks realised that this made sense, plus it gave him a change to try to ease off the pain in his arm. And, if the worst came to the worst, Sam would just have to haul his sorry butt up afterwards. There was a time when you had to put aside pride, and Deeks was way past that point. If a kindergarten class had offered to help him, he would have accepted the offer without a murmur.

Sam worked out the quickest route and essayed it with cautious skill, making sure not to overstretch and trying desperately to make sure his leg did not start to cramp again. Climbing had always been a source of pleasure, testing both his body and his mind, but now it was something to be achieved. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to take pleasure in the activity again without thinking about this whole fiasco. The cave seemed like a welcome haven when he finally got to the entrance, and found one last foothold before placing his hands flat on the stone floor and pushing himself upwards, to lie just for a moment, with his face on the cool rock, aware of how fast his heart was pounding – out of all proportion to the effort he had actually expended.

In the far corner, the Marine lay glaring balefully at him, as he struggled against his tight bonds. Deeks had stuffed a pair of gloves into the man's mouth as an improvised gag, but even so a few muffled protests escaped.

"You want to shut up or do you want me to come over and make you shut up?" Sam asked. The noise subsided. "Good choice. That guy you booted in the face – he's my friend. And that means I'm not feeling too friendly towards you right now. So, unless you want to go down the mountain the same way as those three guys you murdered, just lie right there and don't move. And don't think for one moment I won't do it." The Marine took one look at his face and lay perfectly still. In a funny sort of way, Sam was almost disappointed.

Once Eric had been safely hauled up to the cave, it was Deeks turn. His progress was slow and about as elegant as a spider on methedrine, but who was going to give him a score for either technical merit or artistic impression? The firm grip of Sam's hand around his wrist felt like manna from heaven. And then the searing agony as he was pulled bodily into the cave nearly wiped him out completely and he could not quite manage to suppress the roar of agony as his bicep sang out its protest.

"What the…?" Sam bent Deeks in concern, as he lay on the floor of the cave, clutching his arm, his breath hissing out between his teeth. The memories came flooding back – Deeks bound to a post and left to die in an abandoned nuclear bunker, the infected wound in his arm that nearly killed him. "Emily's handiwork coming back to haunt you?"

"Uh-huh. I guess it maybe wasn't quite healed." The pain was marginally less fierce now.

"You think, Deeks?" Sam shook his head. "It would have been nice if you'd mentioned it before."

Sitting up slowly, Deeks glared at him. "So you could have felt more guilty than you already do? Yeah, I can see how that would have been a really positive thing to do. So – are you going to call on our Marine buddies to get us out of here, or am I?"

"I'll make the call. It's time to go home." Eric needed immediate medical attention, there was no doubt about that. To Sam's experienced eye there was no doubt that he'd broken his jaw and was going to require surgery. And neither he or Deeks were in any condition to realistically manage the next part of the climb. It wasn't failure – it was practicality. As team leader, he had to make sure his team got out of this, their safety was the most important thing.

Deeks' face was pale in the dim light of the cave, but there was no disguising the joy in his voice. "Amen to that, brother." He scooted across to Eric who was beginning to stir now. "You hear that, buddy? We're going home."

Eric looked at him blearily, almost unrecognisable without his glasses and with blood smeared across his swollen features and just about managed a lop-sided smile.

* * *

><p>"I think this must be some sort of record." Hetty took a satisfying sip of Earl Grey tea from a bone china cup. "The whole of OSP injured and out of commission at the same time. Most regrettable." She took another sip. "Not to mention unfortunate. Someome, somewhere is bound to ask questions on why we claim such a major part of the health budget of NICS."<p>

"Blame Deeks. It's usually him in the hospital." Sam took a cautious sniff of the aromatic tea before gingerly taking a small mouthful. It wasn't entirely unpalatable, but he wouldn't have chosen it, had he actually been given a choice, rather than been compelled to sample the brew lovingly prepared by Hetty. Who knew that making a cup of tea was such an arcane art and that the leaves had to be stirred anti-clockwise? "Why not make him pay his own medical expenses? He can afford it. He could afford to endow a whole wing at this hospital, come to that."

"An interesting idea, Mr Hannah." She smiled at him. "Your own injury is going to require some further attention, I gather. I thought perhaps that it might be prudent if you were to spend some time at the medical facility at Camp Pendleton, where you could get the necessary therapy that will bring you back to full fitness."

Sam leaned back in his chair. "As part of the Wounded Warrior Battalion, perhaps?" He returned her smile.

"That would assist us with our enquiry. There have been some rather disturbing reports recently, as you will be aware. And the fact that all four Marines from the Clark Mountain tragedy were also Wounded Warriors does make one wonder."

"I'll call Denise." His tone was resigned, having guessed what was coming.

"No, that won't be necessary. Go home, Mr Hannah, and spend some time with your family. Tomorrow will be soon enough." Hetty understood the strain he had been operating under. It was stressful enough being team leader when everything went well, but when circumstances were as trying as this, then a little leniency was required.

"Thanks. I appreciate that, Hetty. But I still think you should make Deeks pay his own medical bills. You could save a fortune." He'd spent the entire journey back to LA listening to Deeks protesting that all he needed was a couple of Tylenol and maybe a good slug of whisky and he'd be fine. Given the amount of time Deeks had spent in hospital, Sam had thought he should have been used to it by now and was sorely tempted to give him the whisky, just to shut him up… but it was a damned fine malt and right now he was looking forward to drinking a very large measure, sitting in his own backyard, looking up at the stars with his wife by his side. And then going inside and shutting the door very firmly behind him and locking the rest of the world out, just for a few hours. And then tomorrow he would report to Camp Pendleton and his whole complicated life would take another swing into the unknown. One day, he might actually find some time to start living his life properly. Sam didn't know if he was looking forward to that or dreading it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Nineteen: Boys Keep Swinging**

_Did you ever think that Hetty could be genuinely shocked by anything? No, neither did I. But read on to discover what happens when a late night visit goes horribly wrong._

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><p>"I don't see why I have to stay overnight," Deeks said, a trifle petulantly, it had to be admitted. "I'm fine. I could go home, no problem." He looked hopefully at Nico.<p>

"You're feeling no pain at all, are you honey?" she asked sweetly, and brushed his hair back of his forehead. "Which is why you've got to stay in hospital. You're doped right up to those cute little eyebrows of yours."

"Am not." He lay back against the pillows and sighed. "Well, maybe just a bit." Whatever they'd pumped into him, it felt pretty good. "It's not like my shoulder's dislocated, or anything like that." The arm brace and sling were surely just the medics dotting the i's and crossing the t's, nothing more.

"It was _almost_ a dislocation – they called it a dislocation sublux, or something like that. But I could call Hetty, if you want Maybe she'll be prepared to let you sign out AMA? She might even go back to Malibu with you and stay over so she could keep an eye on you. How do you fancy that, sweetie?"

Deeks repressed a shudder at the thought of being subjected to Hetty's tender mercies. "You're a sadist, Nico. I almost feel sorry for Callen."

"Save your pity for someone who gets on my bad side," Nico advised. "And get some sleep." She bent over and kissed him.

"I still don't see why they couldn't have put me in the same room as Kensi," he grumbled.

"Because they want you to get some sleep. And there's no way that would have happened if you'd been together. No matter how many drugs they've shot into your system."

"True enough, I guess."

It could be worse. Hetty could be badgering him to let her take care of him, like she was doing with Callen. The other week Deeks had been clearing out a cupboard and had come across some more photographs of the summer she'd spent with his family back when he was just a little kid, small enough to still need to be bathed by an adult. Clearly, Hetty had been a devoted aunt, but it was incredibly embarrassing to see the photographic evidence and even worse to clock the happy smile on his face as he sat, as naked as the day he was born, on her knee. There was no way he was going to let Hetty repeat that encounter. Callen, on the other hand, could fight his own battles. With Nico right alongside him. He almost felt sorry for Hetty – there was no way she was going to win that encounter. If anyone was going to give Callen a bed bath, Nico was so far in front the race was already won.

"Get some sleep, alright? You're going home tomorrow, and so is Kensi, remember? And she needs to be looked after." Nico closed the door behind her, leaving Deeks lying and thinking of all the wonderful things they would do – and do very carefully, given he had one arm out of action and Kensi had only just had her stitches removed. It would be challenging, sure enough, but he'd always enjoyed a challenge and he knew just how inventive Kensi could be. Sleep was suddenly the last thing on his mind. And it seemed daft to lie awake when Kensi was only a short distance away.

* * *

><p>Hetty went straight to the hospital after her meeting with Sam. While she was anxious to see Eric, she knew that her temporary team leader had needed some reassurance. And she had been delighted to give it. Sam was one of the most talented agents she had ever had the privilege of working with, even if his selfless dedication had nearly cost him his family. If there was anything she could do to help the Hannahs stay together, then Hetty was going to do it. She was an old-fashioned manager, who believed in knowing her team and taking account of their personal lives, having always believed that respect was a two-way street.<p>

And, with that job accomplished, she had driven over to the hospital, aware that Mr Beale's nearest relatives lived in Upper New York State. After all he had gone through, a friendly face would be a most welcome sight, Hetty thought.

"He's resting comfortably," the nurse informed her. "The maxillofacial surgeon was pleased with the operation and he should be discharged in a couple of days. He'll be a bit sore and uncomfortable for a while, but once all the swelling and bruising goes down, he'll be fine."

"I don't expect he'll be able to eat properly for some time though," Hetty said. "Perhaps I might buy him a blender?"

The nurse smiled at her. "He's a lucky guy to have such good friends. Everyone seems to really love him."

Clearly Nell had already been in to visit, Hetty thought, as she made her way along the corridor. She'd often wondered if there might be a spark of romance between those two. There was almost a spring in her step as she knocked briefly on the door, really as a courtesy, before walking in.

"Oh. Please excuse me. I'm so terribly sorry. I really didn't mean to intrude." Hetty backed out of the room at high speed. "Do forgive me."

The dark haired young man stopped kissing Eric and gave her a brilliant smile. "Let me guess – you must be Hetty? Eric's told me all about you, haven't you sweetie?" He patted Eric's hand lovingly and for once, Hetty was completely lost for words.

* * *

><p><em>Okay – hands up everyone who saw that coming.<em>

_Because it took me completely by surprise. _


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This**

_Well, how impressed am I that one reviewer is apparently psychic, as the end of chapter 19 was SO not planned – it only occurred to me about five minutes before I wrote it!_

_Three updates in a very short space of time, because I had an action-packed day and the prospect of an even busier one tomorrow, which means I'm a bit hyper. So I thought I'd indulge myself a little, with a bit of sentimental K/D fluff._

* * *

><p>"I thought we'd agreed you'd wear the scrubs once we were back home?" Kensi said. "I don't want the whole world to know about my sexual fantasies." Then she got a proper look at him and sat bolt upright in bed, barely restraining a yelp of pain from the surgical incision. "What the hell happened to you, Marty?"<p>

He sat on the side of the bed, swinging his bare feet up from the cold floor. "I just pulled my arm a bit. It's no big deal."

Kensi took a long, hard look at him. "Yeah, they gave you the good drugs, didn't they? The ones they keep in those locked cabinets. I can barely see your pupils at all."

"I'm really alright," he mumbled, giving a dopey grin and then yawning widely.

"Sure you are." She moved over and pulled back the covers. "Go on, lie down before you fall off the bed and break your stupid neck."

"I just wanted to see you," he protested sleepily, snuggling down into the pillows and cradling his head with his good hand. In a matter of seconds, he was asleep and Kensi eased herself out of the bed.

God, men could be the most infuriating creatures on earth, being all macho one minute, and then the next minute needing to be looked after. And, much as she would have liked to stay beside him, there really wasn't enough room for the two of them. Only he looked so damned cute, lying there with an innocent expression on his face that was wholly misleading.

"And I wanted to see you too. Even if I would have preferred you not to be maimed." And, having nothing better to do, now that she was wide awake, Kensi decided that she really should let the nursing staff know where their patient had wandered off. Pulling on slippers and a robe, she slipped out into the corridor. It was just sheer bad luck that she'd only got about ten feet before she ran straight into Hetty.

"I was just coming to see you." The older woman looked uncharacteristically flushed. "Perhaps we could go back to your room and talk?"

"Marty's in there – asleep." Kensi glared at Hetty. "And he's injured – again. Which nobody bothered to tell me about." She crossed her arms and looked accusingly at her boss. "You could at least have told me, Hetty. You owe me that much."

"I wanted to tell you in person; I thought it would be less of a shock."

Kensi gradually relaxed her stance. "I wasn't really that shocked, more kind of relieved he was alive and able to walk and talk – although not very coherently, due to the drugs. Marty's got kind of a knack for getting himself injured, let's be honest. But you should have told me."

"I apologise. Next time you are in hospital and he is injured and several hours away, I'll let you know immediately so you can have plenty of time to worry and work yourself into a state, shall I?"

It was so unlike Hetty to snap that Kensi knew something was wrong. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Not here. We'll just have to risk waking Mr Deeks. Who really should be in his own room, by the way." She looked enquiringly at Kensi, who refused to rise to the bait.

"Take it up with Wee Willie Winkie then," she invited, ushering Hetty into the room and sitting down. "Well? What happened?"

Hetty related the events on Clark Mountain, and Kensi winced as she heard about Eric's injuries. "Oh my God, that's so awful." Part of her felt terrible for Eric, but mostly she was just relieved it wasn't Marty who'd been booted in the face.

"Especially as all his family live so far away," Hetty mused. "You don't know if he's got any close friends who might be able to look after him?" Many years ago, she had spent a wonderful summer in Scotland, learning the art of fly-fishing and she could still cast her line with admirable skill.

"I don't think so, but it's possible. Eric doesn't really talk a lot about his private life."

Well, Hetty knew that was certainly true. It had been quite a shock to learn from George that they'd flown to Vermont last weekend and what a pity it was that none of Eric's colleagues had been unable to attend their marriage ceremony.

"I'm sure there is someone who will be able to tend to his needs."

"Or he could move in with us in Malibu? There's plenty of room?"

Hetty shook her head. "I'm sure that won't be necessary." George looked like he was a very capable young man, after all. She made a mental note to make sure Eric made sure he was getting all the pension entitlements and other benefits he and George were entitled to. That was another part of her job – making sure her staff were looked after. And if that meant protecting their privacy, then she didn't have a problem with that. But there was no way the couple should not get everything they were entitled to, especially as they'd missed out on getting a wedding present from the team. That was something else to add to her to-do list – and she'd have to think carefully before selecting her gift. It had to be just right

"Shall I wake him up and take him back to his own bed?" She'd noticed how tired Kensi was looking and saw that it was nearly midnight.

"It's a pity to wake him." Kensi was enjoying watching Marty sleep. It had been far too long since they'd shared a bed.

"But necessary." Hetty raised her voice. "Mr Deeks! Time to get up!" It had been a long day and she was very conscious of the strains it had put upon her. "Come on, now. Get up and go to bed. Your own bed."

"There's something that doesn't make sense about that," he protested, letting her propel him out of the door. "Night, Kensi."

"Night Marty. Night, Hetty."

It was disturbingly like an episode of _The Waltons_. Except for the thoughts that went through Kensi's head as she watched him shuffling off in those blue scrub pants. Because _The Waltons_ never did x-rated, as far as she could remember.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two: The Heart Has Its Reasons**

_Chapters twenty-one and twenty-two certainly contained some bombshells, didn't they? But hey, it's a big world out there and true love should be celebrated._

_Thank you so much for all the reviews! _

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><p>"Straight into bed, Mr Deeks," Hetty ordered and the memory of those incriminating childhood photos meant that there was no way he was going to disobey her.<p>

"G'night, Hetty," he mumbled, falling into bed gratefully.

_Four down, one to go,_ Hetty thought, carefully pulling the covers up around Marty's shoulders and tucking them in tenderly. Everytime she saw him asleep, she was reminded of the little boy with white blond hair and an innocent smile, the child who had given her such unconditional love htat it made her heart ache. _And then maybe I can manage a few hours sleep before I brief Mr Hannah. _

It was very late and Hetty knew that she should really go straight home now, but home was rather a lonely place, sparsely furnished and yet filled with memories. It could be rather dispiriting, always returning to an empty apartment, with no-one to share the events of the day with, nobody to to relax with. She and Callen were so alike, in so many ways, perhaps that was what accounted for the deep attachment she felt towards him. Marty was family, her only living relative and that gave him a special place in her heart, but Callen was something akin to her soul-mate. The age difference had always precluded anything other than a close friendship, but Hetty knew that if she had been twenty years younger, she would have been very tempted to take things further.

It was a good thing that Hetty did not believe in having regrets, for there were times when despite her busy life, she was also very lonely. Sometimes she longed for a little company. The hospital corridors were deserted as she walked along them, following a route that she knew too well by now. A lesser woman might have found the dimmed lighting and emptiness intimidating, but Hetty barely noticed it. She was used to solitude: it was an old friend, but it could also be a formidable adversary, one to be fought with, as it threatened to undermine her confidence. Perhaps a pet might have afforded her some solace, but as much as she loved cats, Hetty abhorred the possibility of turning into a stereotypical spinster even more.

"You're a night owl," Nico remarked when Hetty finally arrived at Callen's room, where the door was ajar, thus preclusing the possibility of any more uncomfortable entainces. She was curled up in a chair, but it did not escape Hetty's notice that a quilt was lying on the floor underneath Callen's bed, where the man himself was asleep snoring softly. Despite her initial reservations, she was beginning to slowly accept that Nico was becoming an integral part of Callen's life. She certainly seemed devoted to him, without overtly crowding him, or trying to make him change. Remarkably, Nico seemed perfectly happy with Callen exactly the way he was.

"I just wanted to say good night," Hetty explained. "I've been visiting my other team members."

Nico closed the book in her hand and Hetty tried to see what the title was, but without success. "I went to see Eric earlier on. He looked terrible, but the doctors said it not too bad. And I met George. He seems a lovely man." Her frank gaze met Hetty's fearlessly.

"We only spoke briefly." It was always best to test the water before plunging in head first.

"That's a pity. I think you'd probably have a lot in common. He's a linguist, specialising in Slavic languages."

Hetty let her guard down slightly. "I'm sure he'll look after Eric admirably, once he is discharged and can go home."

"You didn't know either?" Nico seemed relieved. "I was wondering if it was just me, or if Callen hadn't told me because he didn't want to take me to the wedding. And then I didn't know if I should say anything to Callen, because I wasn't sure if he knew… Well, basically, I was just really confused. I still am, to be honest with you." She stood up and stretched sinuously.

"None of us knew," Hetty confirmed. "It seems that Mr Beale wanted a complete separation between his work and private lives." It wasn't unusual, she had seen this sort of thing happen many times before, but it had never happened in her team before, and that was the difference that rubbed uncomfortably in her mind. It bothered her that Eric might not have trusted how her team would react to his sexuality. And it upset her more than she could admit to even thing that he might have been afraid of being judged unfairly, or even worse, that he might have been rejected. "I wonder if Mr Beale felt unsure how people might react?"

"Two people who love one another and who want to make a commitment to each other – what's not to celebrate? We can't choose who we fall in love with." Her eyes drifted over to Callen's sleeping figure. "I thought my life had ended when Travis was murdered – and then I discovered it was only just beginning." She looked at Hetty anxiously. "This isn't going to make things difficult for Eric, is it? I mean, I know there was all that "don't ask/don't tell" nonsense a while ago, but times have changed, haven't they?"

Hetty reached out and took a hold of her hand. "We all change, my dear, with every person we meet. That is how we now we are alive – in our ability to adapt. Mr Beale has changed, in that he is now entering a new phase of his life, but apart from that, he is still the same person he has always been. The only difference is that now you and I know a little more about him. I hope that when the time is right, he'll want to share his happiness with his colleagues – but the decision is his to make, and his alone. And I know I can rely on your discretion."

"Of course you can." Nico gave the older woman's hand a small squeeze. "Callen will be furious when he finds out we knew and he didn't. You know how nosy he can be, only he likes call it an enquiring mind, or being naturally inquisitive. Same difference – he's just nosy."

She received a mischievous smile in response. "And it will serve him right. Men do tend to assume women are incapable of keeping a secret."

"That's because they believe us when we say we only buy shoes when they're on sale." Nico surveyed her Loboutins with evident joy. "As if. But that's why I've always made a point of keeping separate bank accounts."

To her surprise, Hetty realised that while Callen might have found a new lover, she had just made a new friend.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three: In The Still Of The Night**

_Because Sam has been without a piece of the action for rather too long… if any reason is required?_

The lights are still on in the house when he pulls up in the drive, and his pulse begins to quicken with expectation. The past few days have taken their toll and it is good to be back home, back where he belongs. Sam knows that he has been away for too long and although Malibu is only a few miles away, he might have been on Mars for all the difference the physical distance made. There have been too many aching nights spent away from her, and there are only a few precious hours left before he has to go away again.

There is nothing that makes this house stand out from its neighbours in the unpretentious, quiet neighbourhood: the trim is freshly painted, bright flowers bloom in the beds and the lawn is a deep verdant green. But this is home. This is where Sam doesn't have to pretend any more, where he can be himself. This is the most important place on earth.

Denise is standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing away at a baking tray and the air is full of the aromas of baking: sugar and vanilla and something else he cannot quite place. She is singing under her breath and Sam recognises a lullaby they used to sing to Crosby when he was a baby. This house is full of memories.

He sneaks up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her clear off the ground. "Did you miss me?" Sam nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck and she arches back against him, a small purr of pleasure in her throat.

"I missed you so much, baby." Her eyes are bright and shining, and there is a smudge of white on her cheeks. His tongue flickers out and the sweet taste of powdered sugar floods his mouth. And that releases the floodgates, for sweet as it is, Sam knows that she tastes even sweeter.

"Is Crosby asleep?" His hands are urgent, with a slight edge of roughness.

"Since eight. He was tuckered out." Denise is leaning back against the sink, revelling in the things he is doing to her, pushing aside the piles of dishes, not caring where they fall. This is the only thing that matters and she has wanted him for so long. Their bodies move in a well-rehearsed routine and he slips her panties off in a second while her practised hand undoes Sam's trousers and they fall down around his ankles, followed by his boxers.

"Good." He is hard and he needs her. It's been too long. "Missed you too." And he can feel that she is all ready and just waiting for him, as his fingers play softly with her warm, wet, welcoming body, discovering just how much she has missed him, how much she wants him. The sensation is too much, Sam cannot wait a moment longer and neither can she.

Putting his arms around her waist, he lifts Denise up and she slides onto him in a slick, fast movement that takes their breath away simultaneously. And Sam is held captive deep inside her and they are staring into each other's eyes as he adjusts himself momentarily and then thrusts forwards. Her nails dig into the skin of his buttocks as she pulls him in even further and she grips him so tightly that she almost blows his mind. This is real life. They move urgently, hard and fast and satisfying, knowing exactly to arouse one another, touching the kernel of desire almost instantly.

This is real life, Sam thinks. This is where he belongs: in a small kitchen, where a freshly-baked cake sits on the counter and a small boy sleeps the deep innocent slumber of childhood and where his wife waits for him and gives him the best welcome any man could ever hope for.

And later, when he lies within the hot, unbroken circle of her arms, he realises just what is going away from and he could almost weep. But they have been together for too long and even half-asleep, Denise can sense his distress. She knows him better than anyone alive and when he is with her, he doesn't have to pretend. When he is with Denise, Sam can be himself.

Denise lets one hand tightens around the nape of his neck while the other moves to cup his balls tenderly and a finger slips up to caress the skin behind so that he shudders with desire and starts to harden again, even as he opens up to her. There is none of the former urgency: this is slow and sweet and aching with promise as Sam starts to kiss every inch of her body, his lips and tongue caressing and probing with such knowledge and expertise, teasing her with exquisite tenderness that before long she is begging him to let her come, pleading with him to come inside her. And who is Sam to refuse her?

This is real life. Nothing else matters. And although in a few hours, he has to leave and pretend to be someone, this is who he is. And this is where he will return to, every single time.

* * *

><p><em>Whew! A little raunchy for such an early hour in the morning, but what the heck.<em> _Clearly "randy plot bunny" is currently in residence. Who knows what will transpire next?_

_And given that each of these stories starts with a major plot line roughly outlined, and all the rest just happens as it is written, your guess is as good as mine. I know what the begining, middle and end of the story will be - but then I just start writing each chapter and wait to see what happens. And sometimes even I am shocked. I'm actually a very quiet and reserved person who leads a blameless life, so please tell that to the Marines._

_Anyway, here we are, early on Saturday morning and the working week is over. Which means there will be more than one update today. Don't you just love weekends?_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four: Morning Has Broken**

_Only just after 10am and we're on the second update already - you've got to love weekends!_

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><p>"Are you planning on sleeping the entire day away, or just the whole morning?" Sam strode into the hospital room and handed Deeks a triple-shot grande latte. "I thought you could do with this, seeing as you're incapable of doing anything except the very basics without your caffeine shot."<p>

"Give me a break. It's only just after seven!" Deeks protested, pulling himself up into a sitting position and crossing his legs Indian-style. He held out his left hand for the coffee and took a satisfying swallow. "They stuff they give you in here isn't actually coffee, you know. It might smell like coffee, it might even look like coffee – but it doesn't taste like coffee."

"Decaffinated, most likely. It wouldn't do you any harm to switch to that, you know."

"It would. It most definitely would. Coffee isn't coffee without caffeine. If you think I'm too laid back already, just imagine me without caffeine."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You need to give your body more respect, Deeks."

The coffee was working already, as a lazy smile lit up Deeks face. "Kensi respects it enough for both us. Anyway, thanks for this." He took another swallow and just about resisted the temptation to sigh with pleasure.

"My pleasure. I knew you'd be going into withdrawal mode. And I stopped by your house and picked you up some clothes. You are getting discharged today, aren't you?" Sam dumped a large sports bag beside the bathroom door.

"I'm going home today, and I don't care what anyone else has to say about it." He gave Sam a challenging look.

"Are you desperate to get back to work, or could there possibly be some ulterior motive working away under all that messy hair?" Sam tried to look puzzled. "It couldn't possibly be that someone else is getting their free pass today, could it?"

It was like some warped version of Moonopoly running through Deeks' mind, the mantra that had been repeating in his brain all night. _Go to Malbu. Go directly to Malibu. Do not go anywhere near work, far less the Mission. Go home. Go home with Kensi._

Deeks gave him one of the bland stares he was so very good at. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Sam," he said innocently, but the effect was totally ruined by the wicked sparkle in his eyes. And then the light died a little as realisation hit him that there was something more going on here, that there was something bothering his partner. "Exactly why are you here, Sam?"

"This operation isn't over by a long shot. Hetty's been doing some digging, well I guess she's been directing and Nell's been doing the actual grunt work, but the results are the same. There's something going on over at Pendleton; something that's very wrong and may have led directly to the deaths of those three Marines. So…" He exhaled in a long, slow breath. "So I'm going in, under cover. Maybe for a long time. And I've got a big favour to ask you." He leaned forward in his seat and, on the bed, Deeks echoed the movement.

"Say the word, brother. Anything." Deeks knew all about a deep-cover mission, he understood exactly what was going through Sam's mind and how difficult it could be to ask for help. "It's Crosby and Denise, right? You want me to keep an eye on them, make sure everything is alright?"

"Yeah. You don't mind?" Sam hated the fact he had to do this almost as much as he hated having to go away and leave them.

"My pleasure. Seriously. Maybe once my arm's better I'll even teach Crosby how to surf? I could get him a boogie board to start off on. And we could go skating. He's seven, right? Just the right age to start learning to play hockey."

Sam grinned. "So, you're planning to teach my boy to play the two sports I hate most? What are you trying to do here?"

"Maybe it's got something to with the fact that I grew up with a big brother, who was amazing at baseball and a Dad who would have lived on the golf course and had a handicap of one? Plus my Mom played tennis like it was a blood sport. So I had to find something different to be good at, so that I didn't have to compare myself with them all the time and come in a poor second. I'm betting Crosby would love to have something he could teach you to do when you come home again." Deeks leant back against the pillows and finished his coffee. "Not that I won't admit I'm longing to see you trying to skate. I'm picturing good comedy value there."

"I owe you." Sam punched him gently on his good arm. "You take care of my family. I'm trusting you, brother."

"I know. And thanks for the coffee."

"Seems like the least I could do." Sam paused for just one second. "And go easy on Kensi. Nothing too athletic, if you get my drift."

Deeks could not resist the temptation to indulge in one of his legendary pouts. "Don't forget that I'm wounded too. Maybe you should go by and warn her to be gentle with me?"

"I wouldn't dare." Sam lifted his hand in a brief salute and walked down the corridor, to where the doors opened out into the early morning sunshine and the start of his journey into madness.

* * *

><p><em>And, in case it has escaped anyone's notice, we are rapidly approaching the point where Marty and Kensi might actually be able to spend some "quality" time together. Whatever that means. The randy plot bunny is getting quite excited about that prospect. You wouldn't believe I have a highly respectable day-job, where I don't actually maim anybody, would you?<em>


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five: Be Here In The Morning**

Surveying the empty coffee cup regretfully, Deeks moved his shoulder gingerly, wondering if he might be able to discard the sling and brace once he was safely out of the range of those eagle-eyed nurses, who kept coming in to check on him. You would have thought he was seriously hurt, rather than just a little battered and bruised the way they fussed after him. The resulting dagger-stab of pain soon solved that question for him, he realised with considerable regret. Having one arm out of action was seriously going to cramp his style, not to mention the carefully-laid plans for Kensi's return home. Then again, maybe a hot shower might just loosen his shoulder off a bit? Moving rather more carefully than before, he got out of bed and strolled into the bathroom.

"I do hope you're not going to leave us without saying good-bye?" The nurse looked up from the chart she was examining and smiled at him, standing there with only a towel protecting whatever shreds of dignity patients did not automatically shed the moment the hospital doors shut behind them. Her gaze travel slowly down from his face and lingered for a long moment on his bare chest and torso before finally travelling back up again. "We're going to miss you, Detective Deeks."

"Marty," he said automatically and could have kicked himself the instant the words left his mouth. She certainly didn't need any more encouragement. He was beginning to realise that all these attentive nurses didn't just have his health in mind when they kept checking in on him – or perhaps should that be checking him out?

"Mar-ty," she said slowly, drawing out the syllables and he could swear she was almost licking her lips. "Has the doctor been by to see you yet? To look you over?" She placed one hand on her hip coquettishly and flashed another smile, leaving Deeks feeling like he was on show or something. She was doing enough looking him over for the entire hospital.

"Not yet," he replied shortly. "Look – do you mind? I'm getting cold standing here. I'd like to get dressed, please."

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" The nurse looked completely crestfallen. She also looked about 22, which probably meant she was even younger.

"I'll manage, thank you." He held onto the towel firmly, just in case, trying not to feel like a jerk. Not so long ago he would have jumped at the opportunity and have had her number in his cell-phone in a flash. And now he couldn't be less interested. Was this what growing up felt like? And in an instant, Marty Deeks decided that he liked this feeling. He dropped the towel and pulled on his underwear.

"I hope you weren't going to sneak off without coming to see me?" Nico arched an eyebrow enquiringly. "Nice to see you still wear boxers, by the way. I wondered if you'd maybe changed to tighty-whities."

"Does nobody bother to knock in this damn place?" Deeks hurridly pulled on his jeans. "And shut the door behind you."

"It's nothing I've not seen before, remember, Mikey? When we were eight and decided to play doctors and nurses?"

"That was a long time ago. A very long time ago." Damn, why did she have to have such a good memory?

"And you're all grown-up now. I know, darling. I have got eyes in my head."

He reached for a t-shirt and realised this was going to be tricky. "Can you give me a hand?"

Nico smirked. "First you want rid of me, next you want me to help you. You've got to make up your mind."

"Are you like this with Callen?" He bent his head so she could unfasten the sling.

"Oh no. I'm much worse. You've got to start off as you mean to go on, that's what I always say. As you should know by now. Okay, if you hold your arm like that and I'll just slide the sleeve up like that. Great. Now, if you just bend your head down and put your other arm up… perfect."

Nico slipped the sling back into position and re-fastened it, as Deeks shook his head, trying to get his hair into some semblance of order. "I almost feel sorry for Callen, having to put up with you. He doesn't deserve it."

Nico was kneeling down, putting his shoes and socks on. "Do you want me to tie your shoe laces for you or would you rather go around barefoot all day? It's your choice, Mikey-boy." She shot him a look that spoke volumes.

"Like I was saying, Callen doesn't deserve a great woman like you, Nico. He's a lucky guy."

"You always were a smooth talker." She stood back up. "And while we're on the subject of Callen, please don't leave without seeing him. He gets pretty lonely and right now I think he's kind of depressed too."

"It can't be much fun, having to lie face down like that. Have the doctors said anything more about his eyesight?"

For once Nico let her mask slip. "Nothing at all. Only that the operation went well but that each person heals differently. And it takes a long time for the eye to heal after an operation to repair the retina. It's not like they'll take off the bandages and they'll know right away. It's going to take at least another couple of months. The best case scenario is that he'll gradually regain his sharpness of vision and be back to normal. Or he might need another operation. Or he might even have permanently impaired vision in that eye and there will be nothing more they can do. It's the not-knowing that's the worst thing." Despite all her attempts at self-control, she could not repress the wobble in her voice.

"That sucks." Deeks held out one arm. "Come here, darling." His voice was warm and soft and it was all the invitation she needed. She hadn't cried at all, Nico had been so busy trying to stay positive and to keep Callen positive. She'd been skimping her practise and spending every available hour at the hospital, sometimes staying overnight, just trying to keep Callen's spirits up, but the strain was beginning to tell and the fit of sobbing was a welcome release. "You need someone to look after you, Nico, or you're going to make yourself ill."

"I'll be fine." She brushed her hand over her eyes. "I've got to be."

Deeks' mouth quirked. "Take it from me, there's a time to be stubborn and a time to give in gracefully. And I'm telling you to stay here, get some rest and then you're coming back to Malibu with me. There are plenty of people who can come in and keep Callen amused for a few hours. But you need a break."

"I do love it when you come over all masterful." Nico rested her head against his chest for a moment.

"So does Kensi. When she lets me, that is. I know my place. But every couple of months, she lets me have my own way – for about ten minutes." Deeks dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I do love you, Nico. So let me look after you today."

"Love you too, Mikey. Always have and always will."

They grinned at each other, in the way that only very old friends who have been through both the best and worst of times together can do.

* * *

><p><em>Oh dear. That could only be called delayed gratification. I can't seem to write mildly titillating prose unless it is dark – and it is still the middle of the afternoon here. The randy plot bunny is looking most miffed. Never mind - I promise that Deeks and Kensi will make it back to Malibu - eventually. Maybe Nico will play romantic music for them?<em>


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Six: Homeward Bound**

"Eric? Are you up for receiving a visitor?" Deeks was careful to knock before entering, knowing only too well how people seemed to think the normal rules of privacy didn't apply in hospitals. There was a vague grunt that could have meant anything, so he poked his head cautiously around the door. "How are you doing?"

"I feel crap," Eric confessed, managing to talk without too much difficulty, but confining himself to short sentences. "Jaw and nose agony." He had two black eyes and the bridge of his nose was too swollen to allow him to wear glasses, so he peered myopically at his visitor.

"Yeah, you look like crap," Deeks agreed, reasoning that there was no point in lying. Although Eric's jaw was still swollen at least the horrible deformity had been dealt with. "Never broken anything before," Eric continued. "Didn't know it hurt this much." The effort of talking was making it worse.

"That because you've been listening to Sam and Callen. You've got to remember they're not mere mortals like the rest of us, but NCIS gods. They walk on water and feel no pain. You and me, we're just wimps by comparison." Deeks snagged a chair with his good arm and sat down. "Still, it's good to see you. You gave me one hell of a fright back there." He smiled at the dark haired guy sitting on the other side of the bed. "Hi – I'm Marty Deeks. I work with Eric."

"Deeks saved my life," Eric explained and shifted uncomfortably, partly with the pain, but mainly from embarrassment. He hadn't planned tings this way, but he felt that owed it to Deeks to say something. "And this is George Walker, my…my partner."

"Nice to meet you. Sorry I can't shake hands…" Deeks gestured at the sling. "I'm not quite as good at climbing as Eric is."

_Okay, I'm officially confused. Partner as in business partner or partner as in life partner?_

"You did fine." Eric assured him.

George reached across and shook Deeks' left hand. "Thank you. Seeing Eric is too shy to say it himself, I'll say it for both of us: thank you." His dark eyes swam with sincerity and emotion.

"You're welcome. Eric's got my butt out of hot water more than once." Deeks was never comfortable with receiving praise and this was kind of embarrassing.

_Well, I think I've got the picture, but I don't want to put my foot in it. Am I missing something here, or is this kind of a surprise? Going by the look on Eric's face, he wasn't quite ready to spread the news. Don't tell me everyone knew except me?_

"Do you guys go climbing together?" Deeks asked, trying valiantly to make small talk on a neutral subject.

"No way. Not my scene," George said emphatically. "That's one of Eric's solo enterprises. I play golf – very badly, and he climbs mountains."

"Good man. Don't ever listen if he starts going on about the joys of climbing – because he's lying. Stick to the fairways, cos the whole thing was a catalogue of horrors from start to finish. The only decent thing about the whole sorry affair was the bottle of whisky that I brought along. Eric- you know how Callen hates San Diego? Well, I hate mountains even more, and that's official. From now on, my feet stay firmly on the ground. Got it?"

"Message received." Eric summoned up all his courage and reached out and took hold of George's hand, holding on to it tightly. "And thanks. Should have said it before." The double meaning was not lost of anyone.

"No worries." Deeks looked at his watch. "I'd better get going. Kensi should be ready by now. You take care of him for us, George?"

"I will. It was nice meeting you, Marty." George had waited so patiently for Eric to feel comfortable about telling his work-mates, so at least something positive was coming out of this mess. He was conscious of exactly what it had cost him to do this.

"See you soon, Eric. And don't be a stranger."

_Okay, maybe the last remark was a little pointed, but all things considered, it was pretty mild. Who would have thought Eric could be so secretive? Still, George seems a nice guy, even if he is a golfer. You can't have everything, I suppose._ And then it struck him: _I wonder if Nell knows?_

Grinning broadly, Deeks wandered along to Kensi's room, already slightly demob happy. "You ready to hit the road and rock, gorgeous?"

She was standing by the window, wearing a long summer skirt and matching t-shirt in bright, sunny shades. "Ready, willing and able." Kensi had spent yesterday afternoon watching an old Doris Day movie on cable.

"Don't tempt me." There was a spring of anticipation in his step as he bounced into the room. And then he remembered all things she had said just a few days ago and suddenly Deeks was filled with self-doubt. "You really do want to come home?" He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her, no longer certain of anything., except for knowing that home would be empty without her.

Kensi stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, silencing his doubts with a kiss. "You are such an idiot, Marty. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. As long as you remembered to pack those blue scrubs. Otherwise, I might just stay here."

"First thing I did. Just in case. I figured I might need an insurance policy." He slung his good arm around her shoulders. "Let's go home."

"That sounds so good," Kensi sighed. "I'm fed up with being in hospital, and I've missed that fabulous shower. The ones here are awful. The first thing I want to do when we get back is to have a really long hot shower and then get into bed." She turned her face up to look at him and found he was smiling back down at her, with a very familiar gleam in his eyes.

"I think that could be arranged."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Seven: Heaven Is A Place On Earth**

It felt strange coming back to the house, Kensi realised. She'd left it as a newly engaged woman and so much had happened in the intervening days. There had been a time when she had thought she would never return, that she would never want to come back here, to the place where she had been so happy. But now that she was actually here, all the doubts and worries simply flew away. Walking through the door she was flooded with a sense of complete fulfilment: she was home.

"Is everything alright? You're not too tired?" Marty looked concerned as she stood in the entrance hall and looked around, remembering the first time she'd come here and how uncertain she had been about everything.

"Everything's fine." Kensi was a different woman now: stronger, more confident, but also more tender and more considerate. "I'm absolutely fine."

She took the stairs slowly, with Deeks mentally cursing his damaged shoulder. How damned romantic would it have been to sweep her up into his arms and run upstairs with her? But this was real life, not some piece of fiction, so he had to settle for walking behind her and admiring the curve of her ass in that skirt. As compromises go, that was actually pretty decent.

Kensi sat down on the edge of the bed and realised her nerves were jangling. She wasn't supposed to feel so incredibly nervous, like some teenager on a first date. This wasn't how she'd planned things at all. For some stupid reason, she could feel tears starting to well up.

"Hey." Marty sat down beside her and kissed her cheek. "It's all right. You're just tired, that's all."

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "For being so horrid and for spoiling everything and…"

"And it's all right. I wouldn't change a thing right now." He wrapped his good arm around her, and felt a huge sense of relief. "Everything is just fine."

Kensi reached up to him blindly and ran her hands through his hair, bringing his face down to hers and kissing him with a fierce passion that nearly blew him away. "I've missed you so much, Marty."

"Me too." Even with one hand, he could still manage to unfasten the zip of her skirt so that when she stood up it fell to the floor. The t-shirt was a bit more of a struggle, and eventually she had to help him. By this time, they were both starting to laugh about the absurdity of it all.

"Don't say a word about the underwear," Kensi warned, in a suitably fierce tone, gesturing to her all-encompassing "big pants", which were actually surprisingly comfortable, if unflattering.

"I've always preferred you without underwear," Marty confessed, lying supine on the bed and watching her with great interest. By common consent, they had decided the sling should remain on, although all the rest of his clothing was lying in a scattered heap by the side of the bed.

Suddenly shy, Kensi pulled back the covers, but he stopped her. "What's up?"

She kept her whole body turned away from him. "It's the scar. It's not very attractive and…"

"And I'm going to have to see it at some point. Okay?"

With a sigh, she lay down on her back, hands lying by her sides and staring up at the ceiling.

"I could put on those scrub pants," he offered, rolling over towards her. "This bed's too damned big at times."

"It's not very pretty, is it?" Kensi squeezed her eyes tight shut, not wanting to see the look on his face as he bent over her. "It's horrible and ugly."

"No, it's not. It's very fine. In a few months it'll fade and you'll hardly know it's there." With the utmost tenderness, Marty let the tip of one finger trace the line of the incision and he wondered how something so small and insignificant could be the only visible sign of all the heartbreak they had both gone through. He bent his head and dropped a series of kisses on her belly, working his way down until his lips met the scar. "That scar shows how they saved you. And that means I love it. That scar is the reason you're here. It's beautiful." There was something approaching reverence in his final kiss.

"Don't stop. Don't stop there." The doctors had warned about not doing too much, but surely this would be alright? The next kiss was on the soft skin of her inner thigh and Kensi eased her legs a little further apart, even as the kisses moved upwards and inwards. And then her breath was taken away as his tongue did the most incredible things and his fingers slipped inside her. And it was wonderful: it was slow and gentle and she effortlessly got to a point where she felt as if she was floating bonelessly above the bed and then suddenly soaring upwards and crying out loud.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. Oh God, no." She kissed him and could taste herself on his lips and tongue. "It was perfect."

Marty lay down alongside her, stretching his body along her entire length and looking into her eyes as he let his fingers trace along the scar again, trying to cope with all the feelings churning around inside his head. "I thought I'd lost you. I really did," he confessed. "And I didn't know if I wanted to go on without you. There didn't seem much of a point in anything." He could feel the tears starting to build up and felt like a complete failure. Real men didn't cry, not in front of anyone, and certainly not in front of their lovers. "Sorry." He wasn't quite sure what he was apologising for.

"Me too." Kensi moved so that she was lying on top of him. "For everything." She kissed each of his eyes in turn, kissing away the tears. "Promise you'll never stop loving me as much as you do right now?"

"I promise."

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><p><em>The randy plot bunny said "at last" and has now hopped off to bed.<em>


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty Eight: Some Guys Have All The Luck**

_Hmm –speculation from reviewers about the day job, eh? Well, my ID says Government Service, which sounds rather exciting. Do not be fooled. I assess corporate risk in relation to specific litigation cases, instruct counsel and negotiate settlements. Terrifically respectable, sad to say. I even wear a suit to court and everything, just like a real grown-up. And they don't let me maim the litigants, unfortunately as a good head-slap a la Leroy Jethro Gibbs might work wonders. You might ponder if I take my frustrations out in my stories, but I couldn't possibly comment._

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><p>Outside, the sun poured down like honey and the long lace curtains at the bedroom window fluttered gently in the soft breeze as they lay entwined, talking about everything and nothing, until Kensi's eyes began to grow heavy and her words began to slur as the soft edges of sleep crept up on her. Marty waited until he was quite certain he would not disturb her getting out of bed. As he padded downstairs, the irresistible aroma of freshly ground coffee floated tantalisingly towards him.<p>

"Hey, Caroline!"

"Hay is for horses, as you very well know, young man." She busied herself at the coffee machine, which began to make its familiar gurgles and spitting noises. Turning around, she caught sight of the sling lying across his bare chest. "Not again, Marty? You really must learn to be more careful."

He managed to resist the temptation to say "it wasn't my fault," but only just. Caroline had this knack of making him feel like a small boy again. "I'll try." Marty edged closer to the coffee machine, knowing exactly how Pavlov's dogs must have felt. "Any chance of something to eat? Hospital food isn't exactly palatable. I didn't even get any jello this time."

"My heart is breaking." Caroline surveyed him carefully. "That boss of yours works you too hard, Marty. There are shadows under your eyes and I can count all your ribs from here."

_Damn the woman! She's almost as sharp as Hetty. Next time I'll have to remember to put on a t-shirt as well as just jeans._

"Does that mean I get pancakes then?" he asked hopefully. The moment the words left his mouth Marty realised that he sounded exactly like a kid. No wonder Caroline mothered him. Or did he act like this because she mothered him? He probably hadn't had enough coffee to even start to figure that one out. There might not even be enough coffee in the world to ever work out the answer to that question. Or maybe it was like a Mobius strip and just went round and round in endless impossibilities?

"We'll see." Caroline finally finished preparing the coffee and handed it to him. "And how is Kensi? Nico told me what happened."

Was there anything quite as wonderful as that first taste of a latte, when the milky-bitter taste hit your mouth and all the pleasure receptors in your brain started buzzing? This was like ambrosia. Caroline made the best coffee in the world, bar none. "She's sleeping right now. She's going to be fine." Marty took another long swallow, before putting the cup down. "And we're engaged, Caroline. I asked her to marry me and for some reason she said yes." She was the nearest thing to a mother that he had and it was very important to Marty that Caroline should approve.

"Really?" Caroline wondered if she was hallucinating, but one look at Marty was enough to dispel that illusion. She couldn't remember a time when she had seen him look quite so contented. All his inner joy seemed to have been drained out of him, drop by drop in the nineties, when the family was hit by one tragedy after another, but it had finally returned. "Oh Marty!"

Caroline was a good six inches shorter than he was, which was strange, because as a child, Marty had always thought she was really tall, but then he'd been kind of shrimpy until he was sixteen and finally had a growth spurt. Anyway, the height difference meant he had to bend down to accept her embrace.

"I'm so happy for you." She put her hands on either side of his face and surveyed him carefully. "You've finally grown up and accepted the past, haven't you, Marty?" For too many years Caroline had been worried that he would never settle down because he was afraid of repeating his father's mistakes.

"I guess Kensi made me see the future's more important." Marty kissed her cheek. "You really are happy for me, then? You're not just saying that?" He needed to be sure. In a strange way, it felt as if he was asking for her blessing.

She kissed him back, one hand stroking his hair, just as she had done so many times over the years. "I really am happy. All I wish is that you and Kensi are as happy as Joe and I are. Just make each other's lives complete and you won't go far wrong." Marty was her baby, the child she'd never had. That was the one shadow in Caroline's otherwise perfect life – but he had completed her. The moment she had first held him in her arms, when he was just a few days old, Caroline had utterly lost her heart to Marty and he had kept hold of it tightly ever since.

The inter-com buzzed and Joe's voice came over the speaker. "There's someone at the gate. A Miss Henrietta Lang?"

Repressing a sigh, Marty told him to send her up to the house. "My boss," he explained to Caroline, missing the dangerous flash in her eyes. She'd been wanting to have a word with that woman for some time now, about everything her boy had gone through since he joined NCIS.

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><p><em>Okay – who senses that Caroline is on the warpath now? Has Hetty finally met her match? Stay tuned for more!<em>


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty Nine: One Way Or Another**

_Expect some sparks as Hetty discovers an old friend at Marty's house._

_Remember – nobody is quite who they first appear to be in these stories! Just to remind you that thus far in the series we've discovered that Kensi lusted after Deeks from the moment she first saw him, while he is actually Michael Martin Deeks Brandel, great nephew of Henrietta Lang and major stockholder in a Fortune 500 Company. Director Vance kicked out of office after it was revealed his self-promotion deliberately endangered Deeks' life. And then there was the matter of Jack (Kensi's ex-fiance) who we learned used to beat her up, in addition to being a psychopathic serial killer (allegedly) and then threated her mother before blowing his brains out. Not to mention Eric… But on the cheerier side, Sam has reunited with his wife and son. Well, until Hetty sent him away again…_

_Confused? Put it this way, I'm going to have to start indexing all the ins and outs to date. _

_Anyway – hope you enjoy today's second instalment. And if you do – please review!_

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><p>"You stay right where you are," she instructed Marty. "Joe will bring Miss Lang through. I'll just get started on some brunch while we're waiting. How do waffles sound?"<p>

_Is that a trick question? You know I'd practically sell my soul for your waffles, Caroline._

"They sound just fine. With another cup of coffee?" he added hopefully.

"How many would that make?"

"You know I've only had one," Marty protested, reasoning that the early morning brew Sam had brought in to the hospital was so long ago that it didn't count.

Caroline gave a small snort of disbelief. "That innocent face might work with some people, but don't forget I know you too well." She got the waffle iron ready, knowing full well they were his favourites and that he would never say "no" to them, as she reserved them as a rare and special treat.

"Miss Lang to see you, Marty," Joe announced. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Caroline, who nodded briefly, as a small smile slipped across her face. "Although I think we once knew you as Annabel Krychek, didn't we?" He looked across at his wife, who was pretending to be very busy preparing the waffles and not fooling him for a second.

It was indeed a rare occasion when Hetty was wrong-footed, but this was a beauty. Marty turned around just in time to catch the look of astonishment on her face, before the shutters came banging down so hard he could almost hear them crashing into place and Hetty schooled her features back into a semblance of composure.

_Okay, something's going on. Anybody want to let me in on the secret? Looks like the three of you have met before and still have some scores to settle. _

"You have a very good memory," she conceded.

"Yes, I do." Joe agreed placidly, as leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. "And I also remember you skipped out at the end of the summer of '94 without paying me my winnings." He looked across at Marty with a broad grin. "That summer she spent with your family in the Hamptons, our Annabel used to like to play backgammon. I think it was $530 dollars you owed me, all told?" Joe didn't mention the bigger, more deadly games he and Annabel had played in the past, where the stakes were much higher.

"Don't forget the interest," Caroline reminded him. "Say four per cent compound over 25 years?"

Marty was beginning to get uneasy. "No use looking at me. I always sucked at math."

_There's definitely something going on here. And I really don't want to get caught in the middle of it all. Only it looks like I don't have a choice. Plus, Caroline's making those waffles and my stomach feels like my throat's been cut. _

"Oh dear, I'm forgetting my manners." Insincerity oozed out of every syllable of Caroline's voice. "Can we offer you a cup of coffee, Annabel?"

"A cup of tea would be most welcome." For a split second, Hetty almost sounded apologetic. "And please call me Hetty." It was too good to last though, the snap was definitely beginning to return to her voice.

"We only drink coffee in this house, I'm afraid, _Hetty_," Joe said, enjoying himself hugely. He'd always enjoyed playing games, dating right back to his days in GCHQ in Cheltenham. That had all ended when he'd met Caroline and emigrated to the United States, although his former contacts did come in useful, and it was not unknown for him to be asked to perform the occasional favour. Unofficially, of course. Her Majesty's Government made it very clear they would disclaim all responsibility. But Joe knew the rules and the risks, so this did not bother him overmuch. He and Annabel, sorry _Hetty_, were old acquaintances and occasional adversaries, dating right back to their Cold War involvements during the nineteen seventies. The intelligence community was a very small one, after all, so it wasn't entirely unexpected that they had met again on a more personal level. Joe had almost forgotten how much fun it was to cross swords with a worthy opponent and indulge in a few mind games. It was satisfying to see he hadn't lost his touch.

"Never mind." Hetty was beginning to get a little exasperated. "I wonder if I could have a word in private, Mr Deeks?"

"After he's eaten." Caroline placed the waffles on the kitchen table. Marty was beginning to feel the bone being tugged between two rival dogs. "He's gotten far too skinny and someone needs to look after him." She gave Hetty a cold look and stalked out of the kitchen, followed by Joe, who was still wreathed in smiles: this had been just like the old days and he felt quite invigorated.

"You need looking after, Mikey honey?" Nico wandered into the kitchen, drawn irresistibly by the twin powers of coffee and waffles. "Isn't that Kensi's job now? Morning, Hetty." She switched on the coffee machine and waited as it delivered an espresso. "You look awfully serious, Hetty. Don't tell me another agent's got injured? NCIS is going to run out of warm bodies at this rate."

"You want a waffle, Nico?" Marty offered. "How about you, Hetty?" As nominal host of this gathering, he felt he should at least make a token effort.

Hetty was beginning to feel as if she was right in the middle of the tracks at Grand Central Station and just waiting for an incoming train to ride right over her. "I'm afraid I don't have time for that, but thank you. I have some important matters to discuss."

Nico poured herself another espresso, clearly in the same camp as Deeks when it came to caffeine consumption, namely too much is never enough. "Don't mind me. I'll just have this and then make myself scarce." She dropped a kiss on his head. "Don't let her bully you, sweetheart. And remember to play nicely, children."

"It's been a busy morning," Marty ventured as she sashayed out. He ate the last morsel of waffle and then leaned back in his chair. "So, tell me – to what do I owe this honour You don't normally make house calls, do you?"

"Given the circumstances, I thought this was the prudent approach." Hetty returned his level gaze and he barely managed not to sigh out loud.

_Sometimes, I just wish people would say what they're thinking. All this game playing is starting to make my head hurt. Not to mention my shoulder._

Thinking longingly of the powerful shower jets in his bathroom and the possibility of meeting Kensi under the same. Marty had to force his attention back onto the subject. "So, are you finally going to tell what Sam's new mission is? Or are we just going to sit and smile enigmatically at each other for a bit longer?"

* * *

><p><em>GCHQ is a branch of the British Intelligence Service, renowned for its secrecy. It has its root in the code-breakers of Bletchely Park who successfully broke the infamous Enigma codes in WWII– hence the slightly knowing nod in the last sentence!<em>

_Hmm – so now we have Joe with an intelligence background too. Could it just be co-incidence that he came to work for the Brandels?_

_Go on - press the review button! You know you want to..._


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty: Doesn't Have To Be This Way**

_A short addition- but with some major revelations._

_This chapter contains multiple references to previous installments in my K/D universe, which are integral to the plotline. See my profile for full details of the other stories._

_I've been remiss in thanking everyone who has reviewed, but especial thanks must go to francesmillar, amblue, melkatt, angelique-anja, insane-certifiably and Dot-a-Poke. Thank you guys - you inspire me to keep on going._

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><p>"Mr Hannah is currently on his way to Camp Pendelton, where he will be checking into the medical facility for rehabilitation, following a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his foot, inflicted in an attempt to circumvent his recall to active service with the SEALs."<p>

"Not the nicest cover story," Marty observed. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book for a desperate serviceman to get out of active duty, but it was also a method which his comrades despised. Usually, this sort of thing resulted in a dishonourable discharge. Sam would pretty much be a sitting duck in Pendleton, once the news got out.

"Indeed not. And it may place Mr Hannah in some jeopardy, a fact he is fully aware of. But we have good reason to believe that the Wounded Warrior Battalion-West has been infiltrated by person or persons deliberately acting to subvert their core mission, which is returning personnel to full fitness and thence, where appropriate, to duty."

"Some important people might be compromised, you mean?" Marty shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "That's one hell of a risk he's taking, Hetty."

_They'll be lining up on day one to put his head back, Hetty, as well you know._

She looked genuinely sad. "I know. But there really was no other option. Believe me when I say that this one may go all the way to the top."

"Of NCIS?" he asked shrewdly. "Let me guess: we're deliberately not mentioning the name of a certain Director Vance? The same guy who recently demitted office and was subsequently diagnosed with a diagnosis of PTSD? A man with too many secrets stored in his brain? And the same man Sam punched half-way to Washington?"

_I'd forgotten just how sharp you can be, Marty. I must remember not to underestimate you again._

"Leon is currently receiving treatment at Camp Pendleton," Hetty admitted. "He would certainly be regarded as a high-security risk."

"Stratospheric, more like." Deeks shook his head in disbelief. "Isn't this one for the spooks? Homeland Security? Surely Sam has some back-up in place?" He looked at Hetty, who once again returned his gaze steadily. "You are kidding, aren't you?"

_Surely not even you could do this, Hetty?_

"Would you like me to recap on the current status of OSP? You are currently _hors de combat_. Mr Callen is still recovering from surgery, as is Miss Blye. Likewise for Mr Beale. Miss Jones is a trained and highly able intelligence analyst."

"She's not an agent!" Marty was on his feet now. "You didn't see how scared she was that last time – and I was with her every step of the way, until they jumped me. What chance will she have there on her own?"

"She won't be alone. Mr Hannah will be there."

"Don't play mind games with me, Hetty. One minute you're telling me Nell will be Sam's back-up, the next thing you say he will look out for her. So which one is it?"

"What choice do I have, Marty?"

"Use me."

_Oh. My. God. I've walked right into that one, haven't I? Jesus, you are good, Henrietta Lang or Annabel Krychek or whoever the hell you are._

"Are you sure?"

He threw her words right back at her. "What choice do I have, Hetty?"

_And why do I get the horrid feeling I've just been set up as the sacrificial ferret in all this?_

"Oh Marty, I learned a long time ago that sometimes we don't have any choices at all."

There was a sour taste in his mouth and his voice was bitter. "How do you sleep at nights? Seriously, I want to know. How do you live with yourself?"

Her eyes flickered shut for the briefest of moments. "With great difficulty."

* * *

><p><em>oh-oh. Looks like Marty's heading for trouble - again. Not to mention poor Sam being stuck in the thick of it. Mind you, Nell has proven quite handy at disabling her would-be opponents in the past, so maybe all is not entirely lost. It's just a good thing that Marty and Kensi already had a quick tumble before Hetty arrived.<em>

_You may have noticed a new arrival to the warren: extremely devious plot bunny is waving his paw at you. He looks nicer that evil plot bunny, but looks can be deceptive. Trust no one, as they used to say in the X-Files._


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty One: Games People Play**

_Melkatt – are you a mind reader or what? How hugely impressed am I?_

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><p>"It's handy that Kensi's mom still lives in Pendleton," Marty mused. "Or is she part of your master plan too?"<p>

"I fear you over-estimate my level of influence," Hetty said tartly. This meeting was not going to the schedule she had envisaged. "I'm just a very small cog in a very complicated piece of machinery. We all have our parts to play."

"Some of us strut and fret while others exit stage left being chased by bears, I suppose, leaving the soliloquies to the big stars?" His prep school had been very big on Shakespeare and Marty knew how much Hetty loved her quotations.

"Sometimes I think your talents are wasted, Marty."

"Then you'd better make sure you don't squander them." He was growing tired of all this sparring. "When do you want me there? I've got a few things I need to take care of first. Personal things."

"I don't think we need to move immediately. Mr Hannah will be undergoing evaluation for the first few days, and during that period he will be isolated from the rest of the facility. Dr Getz has been seconded to Battalion-West, which will assist us."

Marty shook his head in disbelief. "It would have been helpful if you'd mentioned that earlier."

_Talk about holding your cards to your chest. It's almost as if Hetty wanted me to lose my cool… Okay, that's exactly what she wanted. She pushed me into a corner – again – and got me to volunteer for this whole crazy mission. God, she is good. She is so good, she's bad. _

Shortly afterwards, Hetty left, leaving a slightly shell-shocked Marty sitting looking at the kitchen table and wondering if he should bang his head off it a few dozen times. And then it struck him.

_I am in big trouble. Kensi is going to go mad. And when she hears I'm going to Pendleton, then she's going to want to some too and stay with her Mom and expect me to stay there too. God forbid. And Caroline is going to go ballistic when she discovers what I've agreed to. Basically, I'm dead meat._

"She's gone?" Nico poked her head around the door, checking the coast was clear.

"She came, she saw, she conquered."

"You could have said no."

"Yeah, right. She would have frelted me right there on the spot." He caught Nico's confusion. "Frozen/melted: frelted? No, never mind. You probably had to be there."

Callen kept doing this too, using all kinds of strange words or code phrases. It must be some NCIS thing. It was one step up from secret handshakes and mood rings, but just barely. Next thing she knew, they'd all be joining the Masons. For a moment she had an irresistible vision of Callen wearing a Masonic ring and apron and nothing else at all and it was all Nico could do not to burst out laughing. "I need more coffee."

"Me too. I've got a lot of explaining to do." Marty shook his head, still barely to comprehend how he'd managed to get embroiled in this whole mess.

Nico placed two cups under the filter. "You want to run it by me? Like a rehearsal? You be you and I'll be Kensi." She folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a stern glare.

"More than my life's worth. Literally. Hetty's probably got this place bugged. Right now, I wouldn't put anything past her." Marty took the espresso shot and knocked it back. The way things were panning out, he'd probably need some amphetamines before long. "Anyway, I've got things to do and places to be." He whistled and the dog came running up, an expectant look on his face. "How do you fancy a road trip, pup? Just you and me?"

"Take the convertible," Nico advised. "And make sure the top's down. He's been terribly gassy all morning."

"So he farts a lot: big deal. He's a dog."

_At least he doesn't boss me around all the time. You know exactly where you are with a dog – you mess up and he bites you or he goes and craps in the corner. And then he comes and licks your face afterwards._

It was good to get out of the house, even if he had to ask Joe to drive him. This damned sling was really starting to get in the way of things. Once he'd finished this errand, they'd swing by the hospital and visit Callen and then maybe he'd finally get that long hot shower. With Kensi. And perhaps the day would start to improve a little. It certainly couldn't get a whole lot worse.

"Here we are. You want me to keep Bobby here in the car?" Joe asked.

"I reckon he'll be the ideal ice-breaker." Marty loped up the brick path, the dog trotting happily at his heels, pausing only to cock his leg on a petunia bush. "Jeepers. I can't take you anywhere, can I?" Bobby wagged his tail happily and then gave a sharp bark when Marty rang the doorbell

"Mrs Hannah? Denise? Hi. My name's Marty Deeks and I'm a friend of Sam's. He asked if I could call and just make sure you and Crosby were okay."

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><p><em>Sunday evening and here in the UK that means a new ep tonight! The one where Claire Forlani is introduced. I think I should write to Shane Brennan and point out that Deeks maims so beautifully it really should be a regular occurrence. I'm sure I could give him loads of suggestions.<em>


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty Two: Afternoon Delight**

_Warning: it is now dark here. That means randy plot bunny is hopping around happily. Nothing too explicit, but please be aware of adult content._

"I had the most wonderful sleep." Kensi stretched luxuriously. "This beats those hospital beds into next week."

"I aim to please. "Marty sat down on the side of the bed and stroked her hair back off her face. "Do me a favour?"

"Should I be suspicious? What's it going to cost me?" She wriggled up onto the pillows. "Marty? What's up?"

"It's nothing. Well, not quite. It's just my shoulder's killing me and I wondered if maybe you could massage it a bit… under the shower?" He gave her that killer look: head ever so slightly bowed and tipped to the side, so that his eyes glanced at her from underneath his hair. It had never let him down yet, mainly because he was careful not to overuse it.

Kensi felt her heart melt a little.

_Dammit, but he looks so darn cute when he does that!_

"A shower sounds good," she allowed, not wanting to appear too eager. "Is your shoulder really bad?" This morning had been lovely, but after all these days of enforced abstinence in the hospital it had only served to whet her appetite for more. She'd had the most erotic dreams while he was out and the prospect of a steamy shower sounded amazing. "Come here and let me see what I can do."

Marty turned around and Kensi leaned forward and began to rub her knuckles into the back of his shoulder blade, instantly enabling a sharp intake of breath. "Maybe you should go back to the hospital and get that checked out some more?" She knew by know that Marty would moan on endlessly about a minor cut or sprain, but when things were really bad he wouldn't say a word unless it was practically forced out at gunpoint.

"It'll be fine. Honest. A shower will sort me out."

_And maybe a fistful of pain pills. Who knew a little kid could be quite so boisterous? Even Bobby was tuckered out and slept all the way home._

Kensi was having none of it. "Take off your shirt and lie down. Let me try to get some of those knots out for you first." Her voice brooked no protest, not that Marty was planning any. Why would he protest at Kensi wanting to run her hands all over his body? Better men than him would pay for the privilege. "I'll start on your back first of all," she continued, once the t-shirt and sling had been removed, and sat down on his butt.

"If this is supposed to be erotic, it's not working. I think you read the wrong books."

"Shut up and let me sort you out."

"God, I love it when you're masterful. Oww!"

Kensi started to knead his muscles, using perhaps a little more pressure than was warranted. "You've got a lot of tension stored up in here, you know."

"Really? I wonder why that is. My life's a breeze. Jesus, Kensi - go easy there, will you?"

"Sorry." She bent forward and kissed his back. "All better?"

"You bet." Marty took the opportunity to roll over and pull her down on top of him. "See, even with arm out of commission I can still come up with some fast moves."

"I could so take you right now." Her hair fell down on either side of her face, like two curtains obscuring the rest of the world.

"I would so let you."

"You wanna just lie back and let me do the work?" She pulled off her t-shirt and her breasts rode high and full as her back arched wantonly.

Marty grinned up at her. "Seems fair enough to me. Did I ever mention how gorgeous you are, by the way?"

She was undoing his jeans and he lifted up his hips so that she could slide them off. "You're just obsessed with my breasts. Don't think I haven't noticed you checking them out."

"I confess. They were the first thing I noticed about you. So come here and let me…" She was bending over him again, so that all he had to do was to reach up and cup her breast in his hand and then raise his head to run his tongue around her nipple, as her head went back and her eyes closed.

"It might be some time before we hit that shower," she warned.

"I can live with that. I told you I aim to please." And then Marty moaned out loud as she slid onto him.

"Yes, you do." She sighed with pleasure and then began to rock her hips slightly.

And after that, it was some time before either of them were capable of coherent speech.

* * *

><p><em>Massive thanks to everyone who has added this to their alerts and favourite stories. I can't believe how many people are reading this!<em>


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty Three: The Go-Between**

_Today's early morning instalment! And I am officially on leave today, so there may very well be further updates, as there are rather a lot of plot lines hanging around at the moment. I feel rather like a juggler with several balls up in the air at once._

* * *

><p>"There's something going on," Callen said. "They're trying to keep it from me, but Deeks was so jumpy when he came in earlier, it was like he was wired directly to the main current."<p>

"He'd just come from visiting Denise and Crosby. Have you any idea how exhausting a small boy can be? He was bouncing around on a trampoline and insisted Mikey join him. And Bobby. And then they had to play swingball," Nico reasoned. "Anyway, there is a lot going on. You're in here and so is Eric, plus Kensi just got discharged earlier today. He as desperate to get back to her, if you know what I mean."

He ignored her. "I know Deeks, I know exactly what he's like. And this was not normal." Lying on his stomach, staring at the floor all day gave him a hell of a lot of time to think about things. And the more he'd thought, the more Callen was sure something was going. And here he was, stuck in bed while everyone else was in the thick of things. And that was all wrong. He could deal with tension when he was involved, that was a given, but to be on the periphery was killing him. After an operation concluded, all the build-up pressure eased, but there was no release valve available right now and Callen was beginning to feel that he might just explode.

"Come on, that must be the first time anyone has ever put "Mikey" and "normal" in the same sentence." Her blue eyes were wide and ingenuous, the picture of perfect innocence as she lay on the floor staring up at him.

"I'm just frustrated, you know what I mean?" This was killing him: having to stay here in the hospital, not knowing what was going on, either with OSP or his eyesight.

Nico moved to sit beside him on the bed. "I know, honey." Her hand insinuated itself underneath his pelvis and he automatically arched his hips to accommodate her.

_I know I'm aching for you, Callen. And it hurts so much to see you like this. Let me take away a little of the pain, make you forget for just a few minutes._

"That's not what I meant. But don't stop. Please."

_You are completely crazy, did anyone ever tell you that, Nico? But it's like you've got this direct line to me. This could be dangerous._

"How about I see if I can spring you – get you back to Malibu at least" Nico mused.

"Uh-huh." It was kind of hard to concentrate on anything except the immediate here and now. And God, it would be as embarrassing as hell if anyone walked in right now, but Callen didn't care.

Nico lay down beside him, so that he could feel every thrilling inch of her pressed against him. "You want I should do that?" Her voice was low and husky.

"I want."

_I want you so much, Nico. You're blowing my brains out and I think the smell of your perfume just put my spine out of place._

"Leave it to me," she said comfortingly. "You can trust me: I'm a pianist."

_There's something very wrong about the logic there, but who cares? And you've got the most amazing sense of rhythm. _

All the worries and concern flew out of his mind.

* * *

><p>"Yes, he was kind of depressed. It's not doing him any good, just lying brooding all day. I think I managed to take his mind off things for a while though." Nico's lips curved at the memory. "And I've persuaded the doctor that Callen could lie around in Malibu just as well as he can in the hospital. You can arrange for an eye-specialist to check in on him, can't you Hetty?"<p>

"That shouldn't pose too much of a problem. I have another favour to ask you, my dear." Hetty looked across the desk towards the empty space where her team normally sat and felt like a other whose children have all left home at the same time. "Would you check in on Mr Beale while you're still at Pacific West? I don't want him to feel neglected. Especially now, if you get my meaning."

"I hear you. I'll clear things about Callen with Mikey when I get back home. And of course I'll go see Eric." Nico was getting a huge kick out of being involved with NCIS, even if she was carefully kept on the very periphery of things. It was almost as exciting as the moments just before a concert. Not a huge concert, like in the Sydney Opera House, of course, more like a private benefit. But there was the same sense of approaching doom, combined with giddy pleasure and expectation. She was beginning to understand why they were all so addicted to this, despite the dangers. "Why don't you come over tonight when you finish up? On a purely social visit?" she cajoled.

"No, I don't think that would be wise."

"Please? That's all I'm asking." Nico knew how to use sound to her advantage. Her voice held only the faintest whisper of dissent, yet it was there, along with a coaxing wheedle. Hetty began to understand how Callen had got drawn in so quickly.

"Perhaps just for a short while. To smooth down some ruffled feathers?"

"We'll expect you at eight." Nico finished the call and walked quickly down the corridor towards Eric's room, her heels clicking on the polished floors with a swift staccato beat. She felt strangely proud of her small victory.

* * *

><p><em>Golly, life is never dull <em>_in that hospital, is it? Not like here in the UK where the most exciting thing is the evening trolley doling out hot buttered toast and coffee. Good old NHS, eh?_


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty Four: Far From Home**

"They said I could get out of here tomorrow," Eric said, more or less distinctly, learning to cope with the fact that his jaws were wired together and would remain that way for another few weeks He was already bored with the liquid diet.

"That's great news." Nico settled herself comfortably in a chair. "Are you going to be alright at home? Is anyone going to be able to look after you"

"George is taking a few days off."

"That's nice of him." She gave him a bland stare. "It sounds like he's a generous guy. You're lucky to have such a good friend."

Eric mumbled something, his fingers plucking nervously at the blanket. It sounded a bit like "S'more-thin-thit" but Nico could quite be sure.

"Sorry. I'm still getting the hang of this whole new way of talking," he apologised.

"There's no rush."

"He's more than that. A whole lot more. George said that when he promised to love me in sickness and in health, he really meant it. We just didn't expect to be put to the test quite so soon." Eric was beetroot-red by the time he got to the end of that sentence and refused to meet her eyes.

"Oh honey – congratulations!" She bent over and kissed him carefully on the cheek. "Did you guys just want to keep things really special, with just close family at the ceremony? Was that why you didn't say anything?"

"Something like that. It's kind of difficult, you know?" Somehow it was easier talking to someone who knew NCIS and OSP, but wasn't actually a part of it.

"Tell me about it! Whole load of type-A personalities in there. But they're good people and I don't think they would judge you – they're your friends and they just want you to be happy. You are happy, aren't you?"

He smiled as broadly as he possibly could, given the obvious physical limitations. "As a clam. Never been happier. Except this whole jaw thing is going to be a bit limiting."

"You should go and talk to Callen – he's just about climbing the walls right now. As am I. And then maybe George and I can have a talk about just how awful it is to be involved with injured NCIS personnel? Maybe we could invite Denise along and have this whole support-group going? We could have cookies and coffee and everything. Maybe even those cute little sandwiches they serve at cocktail parties."

"Sounds like it could be fun. I've been really stupid, wasn't I?"

"No – you were afraid of being rejected. We all know how that feels, but maybe you get it a bit more than most?"

There was something about Nico that invited confidences and finally eric felt he could talk about things. "I was always picked on – for wearing glasses, for being a geek, my taste in clothes – for as long as I can remember, the other kids singled me out. So when I realised I was gay, I decided that I didn't need to give them another stick to beat me up with. I told my family, of course, and then I moved clear across the country, so I could have a fresh start. But I guess I've never been comfortable about sharing it with most people."

"Did you never wonder why Mikey –sorry, Marty – I just can't seem to get my head around that somehow –kept his whole past and all that money a secret from you guys? He'd been through the same kind of thing, with people judging him for what he was, rather than who he was."

"It doesn't seem quite such a big deal now," Eric confessed.

"And look at it this way – by the time you get back to work, it'll be last week's news anyway. Just like when Mikey and Kensi first got together and everyone started teasing them."

"Or you and Callen?" he asked with a mischievous twinkle.

Nico threw back her head and roared with laughter. "Me, I don't care – but can you imagine the look on Callen's face when Sam first confronted him? I just wish I'd had a camera."

"It was pretty great," Eric agreed and for the first time in days he began to relax a little. Maybe accident had actually been positive, in a strange sort of way?

* * *

><p>They called it the reception wing, but there was nothing particularly warm or welcoming about it – rather it was purely functional, and slightly cold and clinical. Still, at least the room was comfortable, with its own shower and toilet. Sam had stayed in service accommodation that made the medical facility look like a five-star hotel. But the thought of being confined within these four characterless wall for a period of several days made him uneasy. For starters, the door was locked, and the window had toughened glass that would take a special punch tool to break. He was beginning to feel trapped, and that only brought back bad memories. Memories which could threaten to smother him.<p>

_Hold onto this feeling. Remember how you feel right now – physically and emotionally. Use this knowledge over the coming days – use it to your advantage. Do not give in to it. Make it work for you._

But all the positive thinking in the world couldn't quite subdue the panic, far less the feelings of lonlieness and total isolation. Even meditating wasn't working. Eventually Sam lay down on the narrow bed and angled his head so that he could stare out of the window, where the stars shone darkly in the night sky. He let his mind float back over the miles to LA, where the lights were on in his house and Denise was standing at the front door, just waiting for him.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty Five: Compromising Positions**

_Because I couldn't resist the mental image the final scene conjured up. Simple as that._

* * *

><p>"Why don't you two have your coffee on the terrace," Nico suggested after dinner. "There's a passage in that Etude that is bothering me and I just want to do a little more work on it." There was no need to mention that she wanted to make sure the mood was sufficiently mellow by the time Hetty arrived at eight. Surely moonlight and romantic music drifting out of the windows would work the necessary magic? Mikey was usually as easy-going as they came, but he could be incredibly stubborn. Just like his great-aunt, in fact. Stubborn and dedicated and fiercely loyal – they were more alike than either of them would admit and they needed to put aside their differences and start to learn to work together. And if they couldn't do that, then maybe she and Kensi were going to have to bang their two heads together and knock some sense into them. Nico didn't particularly care that assaulting a federal agent was a crime, because something had to be done.<p>

Of course, the Etude was pretty damned perfect, as it should be, given that Nico had first started to play it when she was twelve. After she'd played that, she began to play her favourite Chopin Nocturne and the notes rang out with silvery precision and delicacy, the perfect blend of technical mastery and exquisite tenderness.

"It's beautiful tonight." After so long in the hospital the soft night air seemed like heaven to Kensi. "How's your shoulder now?"

"Not too bad," Marty said automatically, before catching the look in her eyes and looking like a guilty schoolboy. "Okay – minor agony? Will that do?"

"It's a good thing I got Joe to switch on the jacuzzi heater earlier then, isn't it?" There was a distinct note of satisfaction in her voice.

"You're going to make someone a wonderful wife one day. Hopefully me. I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you. Apart from your amazing body, of course."

"And my beautiful face," she prompted, helping him to remove the sling.

"And your beautiful face. Are you and your amazing body and beautiful face going to join me?" His jeans fell on top of the pile of clothes beside the Jacuzzi. "Please?"

Oh my – every time she saw him just in a pair of boxers Kensi's heart started to do backflips. Not so long ago, she would lie awake at night and indulge in her fantasy of him, and having the real live thing in front of her was so much better. He looked so good and so fit it was almost obscene.

"No can do, I'm afraid," she managed reluctantly. "Not till the doctor gives me the all-clear and says the wound is completely healed."

_Why couldn't they just have super-glued the incision? That's what the stuff was invented for in the first place. Much nicer that those staples they put in, that's for sure. _

"Bummer." Marty shucked off his boxers and stepped into the bubbling water. "Oh God, that's good!" He adjusted his position so that the jets were pummelling his back and shoulder and gave another ecstatic moan of delight.

"Nico's going to wonder what we're doing out here!" Kensi warned. Despite herself, she found she was getting incredibly turned on by the sight of his bare torso gleaming in the moonlight, with the steam rising all around him, so that his hair was starting to curl in the damp.

"Nico's a big girl. And very broad-minded. It takes a lot to shock her. Callen's got his hands full there."

Kensi kicked off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the Jacuzzi, dangling her legs into the water. "This is good. Hold onto all those thoughts running through that dirty mind of yours and in a couple of weeks…"

"Maybe I should write them down? Some of them are **really** good." Marty leaned his head back against the tiles and gazed up at her. "There should be a law against this, you know."

"Against what?" Kensi bent her own head forward so that her face hovered just inches above his.

He smiled in her eyes, seeing the whole world in them. "Being so happy." He reached up a little further and kissed her, slowly at first and then with increasing fervour. Kensi leant into the kiss, feeling his urgency and completely failed to notice that the music had stopped altogether, far less hear the approaching footsteps as Nico ushered Hetty out through the French doors that lead onto the terrace.

"It's such a lovely night, they decided to have coffee outside," Nico explained and then suddenly stopped as she saw the uninhibited passion taking place in the Jacuzzi. "Only they seemed to have moved on a bit since then." She gave her visitor an apologetic grin. "Young love: what can I say?"

Several pithy phrases came to the forefront of Hetty's mind, but she wisely refrained from uttering any of them. It was, after all, private property; they were consenting adults and it wasn't even as if they were frightening the horses. "Good evening," she called out in ringing tones and had the immense satisfaction of seem twin looks of horror on her agents' faces.

_You've still got it, old girl!_ she congratulated herself and tried not to smile too broadly.

"Guard dogs," Marty hissed in an undertone. "We need to get a whole pack of guard dogs. Preferrably ones with rabies."

"Watch-towers with machine gun emplacements," Kensi suggested, before smiling sweetly and waving at Hetty. "It's not that bad though, not really."

He looked at her incredulously. "Not that bad? Hello – are you forgetting I'm completely naked in here? And that's my boss standing over there? With my best friend? And they're both female? Oh – and did I forget to mention that I'm butt naked?"

* * *

><p><em>Ain't that a site for sore eyes? yum yum yum.<em>

_oh - and just to allay any doubts - even I am not mean enough to give Deeks a Marine buzz cut. I might maim him, I might put him through the emotion mangle, but his hair is sacrosact. I have my standards, after all and I'm not completly heartless._


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty Six: Here You Come Again**

"You want I should go get you a towel to cover your modesty with, Mikey?" Nico called helpfully, while keeping a tight hold of Hetty's arm, just in case. Even on the other side of the terrace she could see the blush on his cheeks travel all the way down his neck.

Kensi suddenly remembered the first time they'd slept together, in the literal sense of the word, seeing that nothing had actually happened, much to her chagrin, and the pale blue towel she'd removed once she knew Marty was so deeply asleep he was practically unconscious. Of course, she had only done that because he was her partner and still recovering from gunshot wounds, complicated by injuries sustained in rescuing her and the towel was damp and – well, she didn't want him to get double pneumonia on top of everything else. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact he was lying face down on the bed and had such a cute butt she couldn't resist the temptation. Of course it didn't. That would have been highly unprofessional. As would her idle speculation as to whether he had an all-over tan. It had almost been a disappointment to discover the truth, even if it hadn't really spoiled the overall effect. Still, she must remember to just that a little nude sunbathing might be fun.

"I want you should all go inside!" Marty yelled. "Give me a little privacy." He glared at Hetty: the last time she'd seen him naked he was four years old and he'd grown up a lot in the intervening 26 years. There was no way he was going to repeat old history.

"Spoilsport, "Kensi hissed, as she got to her feet. "And there's a full moon tonight and everything. Why don't you just grin and bare it?" She gave him an evil grin as she walked away, enjoying his predicament, even as she ushered Nico and Hetty indoors.

It was three to one and Marty knew he didn't stand a chance. But at least they were all inside the house now. He practically set a speed record for getting dressed, pulling on his clothes with such haste that he nearly popped his shoulder back out of its socket again. He didn't even attempt to put on his shoes, but just padded across the flagstones barefoot, leaving a Man Friday trail behind him all the way into the house.

"It's nice to see you, Hetty – even if it was unexpected." It wasn't easy trying to appear cool and calm when you were standing in front of your boss, dripping wet and aware that it was only by some miracle that she had not seen you as God intended, but Marty gave it his best shot.

Hetty settled back in the armchair he still thought of as his mother's, placed the tips of her fingers together and regarded him steadily. "It occurred to me that I have been somewhat remiss. I seem to have forgotten to congratulate you both on your engagement." She gestured to a long wooden box resting on the coffee table. "A present from me, along with my most sincere wishes for your future happiness."

He looked down and saw an engraved brass plate which read "_MB and KB: may you two be always side by side_" and when Marty flipped back the catches and opened the lid the box revealed a matching pair of Purdey shotguns, complete with walnut stocks and inlaid gold initials.

"Oh Hetty!" Kensi lifted out one gun and hefted it appreciatively, raising it to her shoulder and squinting down the sight. "I've never seen anything quite so beautiful." The workmanship was exquisite: they were guns to dream of, perfect for hunting.

Marty took a careful look at the gun and then closed the lid to read the inscription once again. "Nice pun," he murmured. "You're game for anything, aren't you, Hetty?"

Seeing how puzzled Nico was looking, Kensi put her out of her misery. "They're for shooting game, you see? And see how the barrels lie alongside each other – that's called a "side by side". Hetty – you couldn't have chosen anything more perfect."

"That's incredibly generous of you, Hetty," Marty murmured. "Very generous indeed." His finger ran over the engraved metalwork, marvelling at the sheer perfection of the weapon, whose basic design was so fine that it had remained virtually unchanged for over one hundred years. "A family tradition, of course. Thank you for remembering."

She smiled up at him, grateful that the bridge between them had been rebuilt. "It seemed the least I could do. They're something for your future."

"The Brandel males always got a matched pair of Purdeys on their eighteenth birthdays," Marty explained to Kensi. "Only when it came to me, Mom and Chris were dead and Dad was gone, so I never got mine. Until now."

"They were just waiting for you," Hetty said. "Your father had ordered them when you were just a small boy. All I had to do was to contact the manufacturer and arrange for the engraving and lettering to be added and then instruct them to be delivered. I'm sorry it took so long."

"No. Your timing is perfect. It's never been better." They were meant for him, Marty realised. His Dad had thought ahead, he'd planned this gift, but it had taken Hetty to bring it to him, to make the circle complete. That woman – she knew everything. She knew him so well, she could disarm him with a look, take away his anger with a gift. And perhaps he'd been a little rash earlier on. It was time to make amends.

"So – do you want to talk about Nell and how Kensi and I can help get her ready for this mission?"

"Don't forget that Mr Callen is being discharged from the hospital tomorrow. I think that he would welcome the chance to become involved." She knew a tacit apology when she heard one.

Once again, the Malibu house was becoming the delegated headquarters of OSP. Marty thought he really should contact his lawyers and see if they could write that off against his taxes. You didn't stay wealthy by letting things like that slip. The Government didn't exactly pay him much, after all.

"How long do we have?" Kensi could remember how scared Nell had been the last time she'd gone into the field.

"Two days. It's not much, but by then Mr Hannah will have completed his preliminary assessment period."

There were times when you just had to the very best job you could with limited resources and hope and pray that everything would go to plan and that the gods would not throw everything back in your face. There were times when you just had to take a chance and hope that your luck would hold. There were times when Hetty was sorely tempted to get back into the field, rather than having to sit back and watch helplessly when her plans disintegrated before her eyes and she saw her agents getting shot and killed. And then there were times when she looked at people like Marty and Kensi and she remembered what would happen if there weren't people like her around to protect them, both as agents and as individuals. And there were also times when she looked at them and wondered why such sublime happiness had escaped her. But there was no sense in dreaming when there was work to be done.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty Seven: Heroes and Villains**

_Oh dear. The evil plot bunny has hopped back in and things have gone every so slightly wrong._

* * *

><p>"Okay. Run that by me again. Slowly. Because I'm sure I must have misheard things. Maybe my ears are going, just like my eyes. For a moment I could swear I heard you say that Sam has gone undercover, with no contact and only Nate for back-up." Callen was finding it very hard to keep his temper.<p>

"That's basically it, in a nutshell. Which is possibly not the best analogy to use when we're talking about PTSD, but there you go. Except that Nell is going in the day after tomorrow. With me."

"This just gets better. A non-agent who can't possibly look after herself in a dangerous situation, let alone get Sam out of there, and a cop with an arm out of commission. Fantastic."

"Nell can kick thunk in the junk again, you know. That worked out fine last time."

"Apart from the fact you nearly got killed, you mean? Yeah, that worked out great. The doctor said you didn't suffer any brain damage back then, but after hearing this plan, I'm not so sure"

Marty felt like smacking Callen on the head, only that was probably kind of dangerous, seeing the guy was still recovering. The bandages were off now and he was allowed to sit up and move around for short periods, provided that he still spent the majority of time lying down. He'd been tetchy and on edge since the moment he arrived and right now Marty was pretty bear the end of his patience.

"Except it's not my plan. And just so you know, I was against it from the start. Only by the time I knew the full extent of the craziness, Sam was already in place. So I had the choice of giving him whatever one-handed lame-ass cop protection I could, or leaving him on his own." There was a lot more Marty could have said, a lot more he wanted to say, but he was interrupted by the chime of the intercom, signalling that someone was at the front-gate. "You want to hold onto those thoughts, Callen and we can take this up later?" He stalked out, leaving Callen feeling like a heel.

"Crosby?" Marty started at the handset in disbelief. "Is your Mommy with you? Okay, you stay right where you are and I'll be right with you." Stopping only to yell "Kensi! I need you down here right away!" he sprinted down the drive, hardly able to believe that the kid had managed to get all the way from his own home out here. God only knows what could have happened to him – it was a miracle Crosby was still in one piece and not lying in a ditch somewhere with his throat cut. Or worse. Only there he was, standing at the gates, sucking contentedly on a popsicle and holding onto the hand of a slim young woman and looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Hi Marty!" Crosby said happily and rand through the gates happily. "I came to visit you!" He flung his arms around Deeks' waist and hugged him delightedly.

"Yeah, I can see that. But you're a long way from home, buddy. And I bet Mommy will be worried."

"Naw, she thinks I'm at Jakes. Ain't you glad to see me, Marty?" His little face looked dejected and Marty felt like he'd kicked the child.

"Of course I'm happy you're here. But I'm just worried that you could have got hurt. You're not supposed to go away places by yourself, are you?"

"I wasn't by myself," the boy informed him. "I was with Meera. She helped me."

The girl stepped forward shyly. "I found him walking by himself and I was worried. He said he was going to see Marty and wouldn't tell me where he lived, so I thought I should bring him here."

"Thanks for looking after him." Marty began to understand why Sam shaved his head. With a kid like that he'd either pull all his hair out or go gray overnight.

"Meera bought me this," Crosby said, pulling the popsicle out of his mouth to show it off. He stuck it back in and sucked it with obvious relish, and thrust a sticky hand into Marty's as they walked back up the drive towards the house. "You want to see Marty's dog, Meera? He's called Bobby and he can chase a ball and turn somersaults and everything."

The girl smiled at Deeks. "I can't stay long. I have things to do, but I just wanted to make sure he got here safely."

Kensi was standing in the hallway as they walked in, looking slightly concerned. "Panic averted?"

"We've got unexpected visitors – this is Crosby and Meera, who must be thirsty after that long walk. How about I go get us all some juice and let Denise know where he is?" He went off towards the kitchen.

"Come on through here," Kensi said invitingly, but she was ignored.

"Where's your Daddy?" Meera asked Crosby. "You said your Daddy was here." She took hold of his arm and gave it a shake.

"Daddy was here. He told me, "Crosby protested. "But then he went away." He tried to pull away from Meera, but she held on to him tightly.

Kensi was starting to get a bad feeling about this girl. There was something about Meera that was setting off warning bells.

"You said he would be here, you stupid little brat." Meera slapped him across the face and Crosby fell backwards onto the marble floor, too shocked to cry at first.

"Leave the kid alone!" Kensi protested, starting towards the girl, who had fury blazing in her eyes.

"No!" There was a gun in Meera's hand and it was pointing directly at Crosby's head, even as he set up a banshee wail. "I came for his father – so bring him here. Or his son will die. An eye for an eye. A son for a brother."

_In the name of the wee man. What the hell is going on? Exactly who is she and who was her brother?_ Kensi couldn't believe her ears. And she was conscious that she had a barely healed wound in her stomach and no gun anywhere within reach. And that Sam's son was about three inches away the barrel of a gun.

* * *

><p><em>Like I said at the begining: oh dear. Oh dearie me. <em>


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty Eight: Calling All Angels**

_Wishing francesmiller a very happy holiday!_

* * *

><p>"Put the gun down. Put the gun down and move away." Callen's voice was clear and steady as he repeated the words he had said so many times over the years.<p>

Meera whirled around and saw a man standing in the doorway, levelling a double-barrelled shotgun at her head. "No," she returned proudly. "I came here to do a job. I came here for revenge." Her own gun pressed into Crosby's temple and his wails became louder. "Bring Sam Hannah to me or his son will die."

"Don't do it, Meera," Kensi pleaded, hoping that the sound of her voice would distract the young woman and give Callen the opportunity that Meera needed. But someone had trained her well, for she remained exactly where she was.

"You – come around and stand behind him. Move slowly. Remember, I have a gun and it would be easy for my finger to slip."

Kensi looked at Callen and he gave a brief nod. "It's alright, Crosby," she said in a soothing voice, as she began to walk slowly towards Callen, placing one foot in front of the other, moving in a measured pace and never taking her eyes off the terrified child. "Everything is going to be fine. You just stay exactly where you are."

"I want my Mommy!" he howled piteously, but he kept still, his eyes as huge as saucers.

"You're doing really well, "Callen added. He could see the shadow of a movement in the far corner of the hall and cursed his eyesight once again. "Your Daddy is going to be so proud of you." He pulled the Purdey a little tighter into his shoulder.

"Bring him here!" Meera demanded. "I want Sam Hannah."

"Not possible. He's out of the country and unreachable." Kensi spoke in absolutes, giving no room for bargaining where Sam was concerned. She continued to walk towards Callen, hoping that they could distract Meera just long enough for her to grab the boy and pull him out of harm's way while Callen disabled her. If his eyesight was up to it, of course. Kensi realised she'd have to make sure she put herself between the child and Callen's weapon at all time, just in case.

"Why do you want Sam?" Callen's voice was mildly interested at best, it almost sounded like a casual conversation as he pulled Meera's attention back to him. But her eyes only flickered briefly as Kensi moved nearer and her gun remained pointed at Crosby.

"Keep away from me. I told you – I want justice for my brother. I found out where Sam Hannah lived and I knew his son would bring me the revenge I deserve. "

"Your brother?" Callen moved his head infinitesimally to one side, away from Meera and Kensi nodded briefly. It was too risky to even attempt any heroic manoeuvres, not when Sam's little boy was in such danger. If either of them made a wrong move, Crosby would be dead.

"You probably knew him as Mo. Sam promised to help him – but Mo died because of him. So now, I have come to kill Sam Hannah. It is my right." As she spoke, Callen could see Marty was finally in position behind the woman.

"Only God has that right. It's not up to you, Meera. Nothing is ever going to bring your brother back. And Sam isn't coming here. Give us Crosby. There's nothing here for you, Meera. Your brother is dead. Don't make Crosby's mother feel the same grief you feel."

Kensi picked up on the technique. "Crosby is just a little boy. This isn't anything to do with him. Don't make an innocent child suffer. Crosby's mother loves him very much."

Meera remained implacable. "It is always the young who have to pay the price for the mistakes their elders make. The boy and his mother mean nothing to me." She raised her chin up proudly. "Just as Mo meant nothing to Sam Hannah."

"Your brother meant so little to Sam that he went half way around the world after the man who killed him, and when he found him, Sam blew him into kingdom come." Callen had to exert every inch of self-control he possessed to keep his voice suitably neutral. "That's how much Mo meant to Sam. Your family has had its revenge, Meera. Sam made sure of that for you."

"So give us the boy," Kensi cajoled. "Give us Crosby." She was standing beside Callen now, ready to leap forward and grab Crosby the instant Meera even looked like she was thinking about moving. And there, ten feet behind the deranged woman, stood Marty, gun in his left hand, staring right at them, just waiting for the signal.

"No." Meera grabbed Crosby's arm and dragged him upright, so that he was standing with his back pressed against her, while her gun pressed into his forehead. The little boy had stopped sobbing now, but the tears were rolling silently down his cheeks.

Marty raised his eyebrows at Callen and slipped into position. It was impossible to use his normal stance to fire, given that his right arm was out of commission and he'd be firing left-handed, so he'd just have to improvise. As he brought his gun hand up to his shoulder, Marty pivoted, so that he was facing side on to the target. It felt strange to hold the familiar weight of the Beretta in his left hand, and stranger still not to have both hands braced against the recoil. He'd only have one shot and if he missed, the bullet could easily hit either Callen or Kensi, while Meera would only have to cock her index finger to blow Crosby's head clean off his shoulders. He took one last look at Kensi and gave her a set smile.

For a second Marty stood perfectly still and said a swift silent prayer, and then gave a quick nod before unfolding his arm and extending it fully in one smooth movement, while simultaneously resting his chin on his shoulder and pulling the trigger. As the bullet flew towards the back of Meera's skull, Kensi and Callen hit the floor, with more urgency than grace, grabbing Crosby and pulling him towards them. The child was face-down on the floor, with Callen hovering over him when the bullet exploded through Meera's forehead in a shower of blood, bone and brain matter and she crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Callen raised his head gingerly and squinted at Marty who was standing stock still, with his gun arm still fully extended and locked into position. "Thinking of taking up duelling, are we?"

Snapping out of his daze, Marty shook his head briefly and blinked several times in quick succession, even as the gun dropped back down to his side. "You okay, Crosby?" His voice sounded a bit shaky and his eyes were fixed on Kensi, who was slowly getting to her feet even as the child trotted over to him.

"I peed my pants, Marty," Crosby said piteously, and let Marty pick him up with arm and settle him on his hip.

"I know just how you feel, buddy. I came pretty close myself." He closed his eyes briefly and hugged the little boy tightly. "How about we call your Mommy and get her to come over?" Callen nodded and went to make the call.

"And Daddy?" Crosby's eyes lit up at the prospect.

"Sorry kid, Daddy can't come now. But we'll be sure and tell him how brave you were, won't we?"

Crosby stuck his thumb in his mouth. "Mommy's gonna be mad, isn't she?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, for about ten seconds. Then I bet she'll be so pleased you're safe that she'll give you a big hug. I'll let you into a secret, shall I? Girls really like it when boys are brave, don't they Kensi?"

Her eyes stretched wide with astonishment. "I'm not sure Denise wants her son to grow up to be a macho pig, you know."

"Humour me? Just this once? Let me look good in front of the seven year old, okay?"

Kensi smiled winningly. "Seeing it means so much to you. Hey Crosby, once I was stuck in this laser trap and it was just like a computer game, only it was real. And Marty helped me out it and I thought he was so brave that I didn't even mind when he peed his pants. That good enough for you?" She stuck her tongue out at Marty provocatively and waggled it.

"Classy. And I didn't actually pee my pants, I just felt like I might have."

"Same difference."

Crosby was clearly not impressed either way and snuggled into Marty's shoulder and fell asleep, pressing his warm, damp groin into Marty's t-shirt.

* * *

><p><em>Oh come on - surely nobody thought that even I would kill a cute little kid? My life wouldn't be worth living if Sam ever got wind of that.<em>


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty Nine: Never Give Up**

"Suits you," Callen remarked as he strolled into the sitting room, having made a series of phone calls, starting with Denise and moving steadily on through Hetty to the Medical Examiner and all the other authorities who had to be informed. Marty was sitting on the couch, with Crosby sound asleep in his arms while Bobby lay curled up beside them, legs twitching gently as he dreamt of chasing rabbit. He sniffed gingerly. "Smells like someone peed on the carpet." He gave the dog a dirty look.

"Not Bobby, for once. It's Crosby. And me. Not that I peed, you understand. But it's kind of soaked in to my clothes." Marty wrinkled his nose. "Yup, I don't smell too sweet at the moment. And I guess I should feel kind of grossed out, but it's really not that big of a deal."

"Put it into perspective, Callen – this is coming from a man who lets his dog into the bedroom with a dead skunk." Kensi still hadn't recovered from that particular episode.

"First, I didn't let him – Bobby came in on his own accord. And second, it was only a baby skunk and he wanted to show it to me." Marty petted the dog protectively.

"It was five o'clock in the morning. And it was in OUR bed. And-it-was-a-skunk," Kensi said, enunciating each word carefully. "And it stunk." And it hadn't been _his_ pillow the dog had deposited his trophy on, before barking in an ear-splittingly high pitched tone.

"The skunk stunk!" Crosby giggled, suddenly emerging from sleep to being fully awake in an instant. "You're funny!" He grinned happily at Kensi.

"Yeah, she's hilarious. It's a laugh a minute around here." Marty regarded Crosby thoughtfully. "How about you and me go upstairs and get washed and changed before your Mommy gets here?"

"Why?"

"Because, my son, if the skunk stunk, I think we stink. Okay?"

"Okay, Marty. "

Kensi watched in amazement as Crosby went off upstairs without another murmur.

"Behold the new Doctor Seuss. He'll make someone a wonderful Mommy one day."

"Shut up, Callen. Just shut up." She would have said more and used considerably more colourful language, only Kensi remembered that there was an impressionable pair of young ears around.

By the time that Denise arrived, Meera's body had been removed and the worst of the gore had also been erased. Her son was also smelling considerably sweeter, and clad in a shrunken t-shirt that nevertheless came down to his ankles.

"Don't ask," Callen advised, reading her look. "And he's completely fine by the way."

Denise watched as Crosby rolled around the floor, giggling hysterically as the dog licked which ever part of him came within reach. "I can see that." She took a deep breath. "Hetty came over herself and drove me here. She told me what went on."

"It's alright," he soothed, seeing how distressed she was. "And Crosby is just fine. Nothing happened."

She shook her head. "Don't sugar-coat it, Callen. Hetty levelled with me. She said you all put your own lives on the line for Crosby. And that you wouldn't even consider involving Sam. So, I didn't come over here to nag, or to rant and rave. I just came to get my son and to say "thank you". That's all. Thank you for both of them."

"Stay here with us for a while?" He held out his hand invitingly. "Don't go home and sit there all alone. Sam's away right now, and I know I'm a pretty poor substitute but…" He smiled and his eyes crinkled appealingly. "Deeks and Kensi are out in the garden, talking with Nell. How about we go and join them?"

It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun was shining and her son was alive and well. Sam had been partners with this man for years, and Denise had exchanged no more than a couple of dozen sentences with him in all that time. It was time that changed. If NCIS was to remain a major part of Sam's life, then maybe she had to change as well and start not only to accept his job and all that it involved but also to accommodate it. After what his team had done for their son, it was the least she could do.

"I'd like that very much. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>After the incident at the Brandel Building, Nell realised that she'd been incredibly lucky that her knee in the groin attack had actually incapacitated her attacker. Clearly, she was pretty near the bottom of the "hopelessly inept" pile when it came to self-defense. But she knew someone who could help. That was the benefit of being an Intelligence Analyst – you had ready access to all sorts of interesting and useful information. There was a lot of truth in the statement that it wasn't <em>what<em> you knew, but rather _who_ you knew. And Nell knew the contact details of just about everybody who was worth knowing, which gave her a considerable advantage.

"Of course you can trust me to be discrete. Discretion is my second name."

"Middle name, Ziva," Nell had said politely. "It's your middle name. Your second name is your surname."

Ziva David was accustomed to being corrected when using idioms, and it had long ceased to bother her. Sometimes she even made mistakes deliberately, just because people seemed to expect it of her. "You want to study Krav Maga. It will teach you to be defensive and offensive in your tactics."

"I just want to learn how to kick butt," Nell had confessed.

"It will do that too. And it will also give you a great butt. Trust me. Your butt will kick butt."

Well, that did it. How to sell a training programme in one easy lesson. Ziva had a butt to die for. Nell had contacted the instructor she recommended and had been training ever since. She was pleased with her progress, even if nobody had yet commented on how hot her ass was. Then again, maybe they were all in awe of her new-found skills? A girl could dream, couldn't she?

And Nell did dream. She dreamt of finding love, the good, ever-lasting, sweep you off your feet sort of love. The "till death us do part" kind of love, that went along with meaningful glances, diamond engagement rings and knowing you were not just a person, but part of a couple. To put it succinctly, she wanted the sort of love she saw right before her eyes, in Marty and Kensi. Or, if she were totally honest, she wanted Marty. She wanted him to look at her as if the sun rose and set in her eyes, the way he did with Kensi. And she wanted to be the sort of girl who inspired that sort of devotion. Basically, she just wanted to be loved.

* * *

><p><em>Aww - poor Nell. We've all felt like that, haven't we? But at least she can look after herself now.<em>


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty: Wouldn't It Be Nice?**

_Late start at work today, so I'm taking full advantage and posting this!_

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><p>"How are you feeling about this, Nell?" Marty was still uneasy about her becoming involved in another operation. His own role was pretty straightforward: government and federal agencies were becoming increasingly involved in providing rehabilitation services with wounded servicemen, so he would simply be visiting Camp Pendleton as himself and talking to various personnel, explaining the opportunities NCIS could offer them. And, of course, trying to discover what was going on. Nate had already been sifting through medical files to try to discover any evidence that might point to a concerted effort to subvert the work of the Wounded Warrior Battalion and compromise national security. It was a particularly invidious thought – using men who were already mentally and physically scarred.<p>

"A bit nervous," she confessed, wishing she had just one ounce of the confidence that exuded from Kensi. "I'm driving over first thing tomorrow morning and moving into my room. It was really kind of your Mom to offer, Kensi."

For some years now, Allison Blye had rented out rooms in her home to visiting research fellows working at the Marine Base. It provided her with a little extra income and also with some welcome company.

"She's pleased to have you. And it means I can visit for a couple of days too." Kensi was still forbidden to drive for another couple of weeks and was already champing at the bit to regain her freedom.

"Just as long as you remember your visit is strictly social, alright?" Marty tightened his grip around her waist. "Kensi? You're still recovering, remember?" He'd tried to make her stay safely here in Malibu, but she'd point blank refused. And then she'd suggested that he could stay at Allison's too. Much as he wanted to be with her, the thought was enough to unnerve a stronger man than him and he'd had no difficulty in finding a plethora of reasons why that would not be a good idea. The thought of sleeping in a room right next door to the formidable Allison Blye was possibly the best contraceptive known to man and an instant passion-killer. Marty would happily sleep at the side of the road before he took up that particular offer. Allison Blye had made it quite clear that she would really rather her only child got involved with anyone other than an NCIS agent. She probably wouldn't have minded quite so much if he'd still been a cop, but that was a moot point.

"How can I forget, when everyone keeps reminding me?" Kensi asked tartly. She knew her mother would be every bit as bad, if not worse, which was why she was only planning to visit for a couple of days. Of course, should events unfold rather more quickly, it would be useful if she was on the spot.

Behind Nell's back Marty let his hand drift down to caress Kensi's butt and felt her muscles contract in pleasure. "Her blood sugar's getting low again. She always gets grouchy around dinner time."

Kensi slapped his fingers away. "I am not grouchy." They were nearly finished their circuit of the garden now and coming back to the house, where Callen was tending a barbeque. The smell of the smoke and the aromas of cooking assailed her nostrils. "But that does smell awfully good." Somehow, what with everything that had gone on today, she seemed to have forgotten to eat.

"This is starting to look like an NCIS company picnic." Marty looked on as Eric and George emerged onto the terrace. "We're only missing Sam and Nate and we'd have a full house."

"Don't even think about playing poker," Kensi warned. "Hetty would have the deeds to this house and all your share holdings in her pocket book within five minutes."

"You forget that Joe taught me to play poker. Along with backgammon. He and Hetty have banged heads together more than once in the past." Marty was still trying to work out all the details of those previous encounters, but both sides were remaining very close-mouthed indeed. "Besides, I'm lucky at cards."

"Lucky at cards, unlucky in love." The words slipped out before Nell could help herself and she flushed immediately. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that, you know?"

Kensi slid her gaze sideways and remembered an evening in a private and very exclusive club, watching Marty playing cards on the other side of room, drinking beer and smoking this contraband cigar and felt a tingle of expectation run down her spine. That had been her first glimpse into his private life and if the evening had ended in an encounter elsewhere in the club that had set up a whole barrage of mutual expectation and desires, it only made the memory more evocative. Since that night, she'd discovered Marty was part-owner of the club and all at once she had a desperate urge to return there, to seek out a particular corridor again and relive old times.

"No offense taken." Marty saw Callen lifting a bottle of beer to his lips and felt the way Kensi's hand slipped into the pocket of his jeans and when he looked at the group around the barbeque, all he could see was the way everyone just looked so damned happy it was almost like they were ordinary people, leading perfectly normal lives. Only they weren't. This afternoon he'd blown out the brains of a young woman right here in his house. And the day after tomorrow he was going to meet Leon Vance, the man who had deliberately hung him out to dry and nearly got him killed. All of a sudden, Marty lost his appetite.

"You ever wondered what would happen if we just walked away from NCIS?" he asked Kensi in an undertone.

"You'd be bored in two weeks. You'd drive me up the wall and then I'd probably shoot you."

"I love you too. But seriously – wouldn't it be nice to be together and just lead ordinary, boring lives, like normal people?"

Kensi kissed his cheek. "You keep on dreaming, Marty. That's what you're good at."

* * *

><p><em>Shameless homage to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid there!<em>


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty One: No-One Said It Would Be Easy**

_Ninety nine reviews so far - go on, make my day and make it one hundred!_

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><p>Nate studied the man sitting opposite him carefully. "How do you feel today?"<p>

"Bored. I don't know why I'm here." Sam laid his hands flat on the table. "I shouldn't be here." He was a text-book example of controlled aggression. This cover was a complete break from a normal undercover operation, in that he was using his own name and his real service details. It was a risk, but a necessary one, given that Leon Vance was currently receiving treatment at the facility. And in the ex-Director's fragile mental state there was no telling what he might do or say. Leon Vance was a huge risk and Sam still had conflicted feelings over the man and his actions.

"What do you want to do?" Nate was playing this interview entirely straight, just in case he was being observed. He'd spent a week at Camp Pendleton and had yet to make a single concrete discovery of any covert activity or anything else that could be even remotely categorised as suspicious behaviour. During this time Nate had sat in on group therapy sessions, done numerous one-to-one interviews, taken his meals with the men, even worked out in the gym with them and he'd uncovered precisely nothing. But until things became clearer, everyone except Sam and the rest of the team was a potential suspect and he could trust no-one. Appearances had to be kept up at all times.

"I want to get out of here. I've done my time in the forces, and now I want to get on with my life." Sam stared directly at the psychologist. "And you can make that happen. I can't go back. You make me go back and I'll do something even worse."

Well, Sam was doing a pretty convincing job of persuading the authorities he was unfit for active service, Nate thought. He came over as a man completely on the edge, a man who would be a risk, not an asset on active service. "Putting that aside, how are things?"

"I can't put that aside. That's the only thing I can think about. You can't send me back there." Sam dropped his gaze and started to rub his thumb and forefinger together in small circles. When he started speaking again, his voice was hesitant. "And my leg hurts. It hurts all the time. I can't go back. Please, Doc – don't let them send me back. Please."

"We want to help you, Sam. Help you get back your health. That's all people here are concerned about. I'll do you a deal – you take part in the programme for a couple of days, and then we'll talk again and see how you're feeling then."

"Two days?" The incessant circular movements slowed slightly. "You promise you'll help me then?"

You are impressive, Sam Hannah. Nobody watching would have a clue this is all an act. "Everyone here wants to help you, Sam. We'll move you from reception it into the rehabilitation centre and see how you get on there."

"For two days. And then we'll meet and you'll help me?" The finger movements were getting more agitated again."

"Two days. Have we got a deal?"

"Deal." Sam let his body relax a little. It wasn't actually that hard to act uptight and barely holding onto the edges of control. Sometimes it was just a little too easy. There was always a tightrope that you walked along when you were undercover and he knew how easy it could be to slip into the role and let it consume him. Sometimes the lines between fantasy and reality were so faint as to become untraceable.

"How about we go and join your group and you can get to know some of the guys?" The group the four Marines from Clark Mountain had been a part of. The group that Leon Vance was still a member of. The game was about to start.

"Okay." It wasn't hard for Sam to adjust his normal gait to a more dejected, halting pattern, mainly because his foot was starting to play up again, sending some sort of mixed up message to his calf muscle and inducing the most horrific cramps that felt as if someone had shoved a fist into the middle of his leg. If it wasn't so damned painful, he would have welcomed the physical evidence that only added to his credibility. The unit doctor was certainly in no doubt that the reaction was real and seemed particularly interested in his case.

"We've got a post-graduate researcher coming in later today, Sam. She'll be working on a study of physiological reactions to stress-induced injuries, and I think you should work together."

Sam shot him a suspicious look. "She's not going to stick me with any needles, is she? I don't like needles and I'm not letting some student stick them in me."

"Flynn Gillespie won't do anything like that. She'll just be observing you. Is that alright?"

Sam nodded and let his body relax just a little. The pieces were all starting to fall into place and the game was afoot.

* * *

><p>"Flinn Gillespie?" It was better than Fern, Kensi supposed, but not by much. "Who came up with that, and why?"<p>

"Hetty thought it had this whole Celtic groove going on. Probably because of my hair. I quite like it," Nell confessed. Jones was such a boring name, after all. She put Kensi's travel bag into the trunk of the car. "Is that everything?"

"I hope so. We seem to be taking an awful lot of stuff with us." She gave Nell as suspicious look. "Are you planning something I don't know about? There's an awful lot of good looking, hot-as-hell Marines in Camp Pendleton, of course." She gave her colleague a wicked look. "Going to do a little socialising on your down-time, are you?"

That was the curse of having red hair and fair skin – even a slight blush was immediately obvious. "Well, I just thought it was kind of a good idea. After I found out that Eric was off the market." Nell was still processing that piece of news. It was kind of a shock to discover your closest work colleague had been effectively leading a double-life, especially as she'd kind of had this little crush going for a while. "Did you know? Did you even think that he might be gay?"

"Never even thought about it, to be honest," Kensi confessed "But I did used to wonder about Nate, with the way he used to try to keep up with Callen and Sam in the fitness stakes, which was kind of hilarious, in a slightly sad way. And although he used to try to flirt with me, it was kind of half-hearted, like he felt he had to make the effort."

"And?" Nell was all ears now.

"And I never could quite make up my mind. You'll be working with him – I'll let you make up your own mind. And we can compare notes later on." Kensi checked her watch. "We'd better make a start. I'll just go and say goodbye to Marty."

"Don't be too long," Nell warned. "And don't let him sweet talk you into going back upstairs. We have to be there by two o'clock. And I don't want to be late on my first day"

Kensi flashed her a wicked grin. "Who says he'd be the one doing the persuading? And remember, I was a Marine brat – being punctual is bred into me."

"You should try using your good influence on Deeks. He's chronically late." Callen shook his head as Kensi rushed passed him. "It's a lost cause. Even Kensi can't change him. Not that I think she wants to. You ready, Nell?" The sight in his right eye seemed a little better today, he thought and hoped he wasn't kidding himself.

"I'm ready," she confirmed and felt a thrill of excitement run through her at the prospect that lay ahead.

"Good hunting." Callen knew it could be a jungle out there.

* * *

><p><em>Couldn't resist the Kipling quotes! Huge kudos to anyone who spots them - Hetty will be so proud of you.<em>


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty Two: The Game of Kings**

_And the pieces are finally starting to fall into place, as old secrets and allegiances start to become clear. Remember when I said that nobody in this story was quite who they appeared to be? Well, I really wasn't kidding._

Leon Vance was a changed man: that much was obvious to Sam from just a passing glance as he walked into the large sunny room where around twenty men sat in small groups, drinking coffee, playing cards, watching television or just generally relaxing. By contrast, Leon sat off to one side, no longer exuding an air of imposing authority. Rather, he looked as if he wanted to disappear into himself, an impression that was only highlighted by the way he hugged his arms around his midriff. Gone was the pseudo-Marine buzz cut, replaced by a slightly dishevelled, unkempt appearance and the power suits had been replaced by a baggy pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Leon?" Sam wondered how much the former director remembered of their last meeting, more particularly the punch that had sent him flying across the room and crashing into the far wall, where he had slumped down, with blood pouring from his nose. A closed scrutiny revealed that it had healed well. "How are you doing?"

"Alright. I didn't expect to see you here." His voice no longer held that note of slightly condescending irritation that had so often coloured Leon's conversations with his staff in the past and which had contributed in no small way to the general dislike he had engendered across NCIS.

Sam wasn't quite sure if it was his imagination, or if there was a hint of animation in the other man's eyes. "Not exactly my choice."

"Nor mine." Leon looked around suspiciously. "How much did Hetty tell you?"

"She told me I was recalled to active service and… well, put it this way, here I am. I'll let you fill in the blanks." Sam stuck to his cover story. Who knew if Leon was already compromised?

"Don't play me for a fool. You don't know what you're getting into, Sam. Believe me. You have to warn Hetty. Tell her they're playing Boden's mate. Just that. She'll understand."

"I can't get in touch with Hetty or anyone at NCIS, Leon. You know that." Sam spoke in an undertone, choosing his words carefully so that they could be read either way – that he was just another patient receiving treatment, or that he was undercover and out on his own with no support.

"Find a way. For all our sakes, but especially hers. This is an end-game and we're just pawns to be sacrificed. Three men have already died."

Leon let his body slump back down into its former position of abject apathy and Sam walked off, wondering what the hell was going on. He had the very definite impression that somewhere along the line OSP had been left out of the loop when it came to full and frank disclosure. He resumed the frenetic finger rubbing movements and hesitant walk that he'd sued with such good effect since his arrival, but this time Sam was aware of an unpleasant pricking in his thumbs and he had to resist the temptation to demand to speak to Nate immediately. This wasn't a normal undercover operation, it never had been. There were no agents in place, or even listening in. There was no pre-arranged signal that would bring help. It was, to use a technical term, completely fucked up. And Sam had the distinct impression things were going to get a whole lot worse. He looked up at the clock and wondered how long it would be before Nell arrived and he could get a message to Hetty. This was starting to feel a whole lot like a rat trap and he might just already be caught.

"I thought you weren't going to Camp Pendleton until tomorrow?" Callen said, looking at the bag slung over Deeks' shoulder.

"I changed his mind." Kensi smiled disarmingly. "Just think of all fringe benefits it'll bring, Callen. This way you and Nico will have the whole house to yourselves. Won't that be fun?"

"Remember to feed my dog," Deeks cautioned. "And let him out before bedtime."

"Theirs or his?" Nell asked, with genuine confusion and was intrigued to see how red Callen could go.

He recovered his poise quickly though. "Have a great visit and give my best to your Mom, Kensi. I'm sure she'll be wanting to talk about wedding arrangements with you." Deeks shot him a look filled with pure evil.

"Another word and we'll have all the ushers and groomsmen dressed in pale lilac suits. Or worse."

"Metrosexual is my middle name. And I'm not afraid to embrace my feminine side. I'm not so sure it's Sam's colour though." Some of the outfits Hetty had insisted Callen wore over the years had been much worse than that. Besides which, Nico had shown him the kilt and dress jacket hanging in at the back Deeks' wardrobe. Given the choice, a pale lilac suit would win hands down over what was essentially a plaid skirt every single time.

Joe stopped raking the gravel into serried neatness and wandered over to Nell. "Drive carefully. And don't listen to Marty when he tells you to go faster. That boy's entirely too reckless for his own good."

"I'm a reformed character," Deeks protested

The older man shook his head. "Never kid a kidder." He reached out and pulled Deeks towards him and spoke in an undertone. "Take care, Marty. And remember – things are not always what they seem. You just keep a sharp lookout. Sometimes you find there are so many players you can't see the board."

Deeks returned the hug and whispered in his ear. "Are we talking about our cousins? Other organisations? Hostile forces?"

"It's anyone's guess. This is all unofficial, but I've heard rumblings. You just make sure you call Hetty and tell her about your change of plans."

Deeks could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "This is serious, isn't it?" After that meeting in the kitchen, it hadn't been exactly hard to work out that Hetty and Joe had once been playing the same game, albeit on slightly different boards and with different allegiances.

Joe nodded. "It's been coming a long time. Longer than you could ever imagine. There are a lot of old scores to be settled and I don't want you caught in the crossfire."

"I'll keep my head down and make sure Kensi's nowhere around."

"Sounds like a good idea, son." Joe stood in front of the hose with Callen and watched as they drove off. This should never have happened. He'd known the minute Henrietta Lang came back into Marty's life that the carefully constructed house of cards was about to come tumbling down. Marty was never meant to become involved. His father had already been sacrificed in the very opening gambits of this game and Joe had the awful feeling that in the bigger scheme of things Marty was only a pawn in jeopardy. There were bigger issues at play here and pawns were mainly expendable: there to be sacrificed.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty Three: The Song Remains The Same**

Marty waited until they were down the drive and the gates were closing behind them."Nell – you know what Joe said?"

"About not driving too fast?" Nell checked the speedometer, which was showing a modest 35 miles an hour.

"Exactly. Ignore him. Get us to the Mission as fast as you can." He'd already pulled out his smart phone and cut off any possible objections. "If it makes things easier, that's an order. Okay? A direct order."

"We're not going to Camp Pendleton then?" She looked puzzled, but obediently switched lanes.

"Like I said, we're going to the Mission." Hetty's was the first number on his speed-dial.

Kensi gave him a hard look. "Do you want to tell me what's going on here?"

Marty shook his head and willed Hetty to pick up the phone. It seemed like an eternity before she answered but in truth there had been no more than three rings. "Hetty? I've just spoken to Joe and we have a problem over in Camp Pendleton and he was insistent you should know. No, I don't know how he's got wind of and he didn't have any details, but I trust him. There's something up. I'm on my over right now to pick you up and I'm dropping Nell and Kensi off. I don't want her anywhere near this."

Kensi started indignantly. "Nell I can understand, but since when did you start making decisions for me?"

"Since this all threatened to blow up in our faces."

"Are you forgetting who is the senior NCIS agent here?" she challenged.

"If it makes any difference, you can hear it from someone else. Someone you might just listen to." Marty was not in the mood to start playing games, so he simply pushed the loudspeaker button on the phone and Hetty's voice filled the car.

"Miss Blye? Until you hear otherwise, please consider yourself ordered to report for duty at the Mission. And to remain there until otherwise informed." He ended the call and it only took one glance at the set expression on his face for Kensi to bite her tongue and choke back the questions that were swirling around in her head.

"Any objections, Nell?" he asked. It seemed only fair to involve her, after all.

"No. None at all." Her hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as she manoeuvred through the usual gridlock on the freeway.

"You want to put your foot down then?" Marty stared ahead at the traffic and tried to sort out all his thoughts, to work out the possible permutations, to try to come up with some sort of plan. But it was as if he was playing blind, in a game that was already half over before he had even begun and nothing made any sense. Kensi was clearly furious with him, but it was better that she was alive and mad than anything else.

"Not that you should ever try it again, because that would be really pushing it, but you're actually quite attractive when you're being masterful." She slipped her hand into his and stroked her thumb across the palm. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I know my place. It won't happen again." Marty squeezed her hand gently and looked into her eyes, wondering what the hell she saw in him. When he looked up again, Nell was moving into the lane to turn off to the Mission. "Nearly there."

"I know. You will be careful, won't you?" They were already on the slip road and moving down towards the Mission.

"I will." Hetty was standing outside, all ready and waiting, and holding a well-thumbed old-fashioned manila folder in her hand. He leant across and unfastened Kensi's seatbelt. "Leave the engine running, Nell. And don't worry. We'll get Sam and Nate out of there. We'll bring them back."

That wasn't exactly what was bothering Kensi. "If you get hurt again, I'll kill you." She clung to him briefly and then stared intently at him, fixing every last detail of his face in her mind.

"And I'll let her," Nell added, holding the door open for Hetty. "And then help her bury your body."

"I love you too."

They stood and watched as the car drove away, watching until it turned the corner and drove out of sight. Nell reached out and took Kensi's hand. "I could do with a drink right now."

"But you don't drink!" Kensi looked at her in astonishment.

"It seems like a good time to start. And I know where the spare key to Hetty's liquor cabinet is."

"If I thought we had one chance I a thousand of getting away with it, I'd take you up on that. It's a pity Eric's not here – he's usually got a joint somewhere around, although he thinks none of us know."

"I don't smoke," Nell said primly, trying not to look too shocked.

"Maybe you should learn? And today's as good a time as any." Kensi walked into the Mission and shut the door behind her, trying to quell the feelings of unease in her stomach.

"Do you think they'll be alright" Nell couldn't keep up the joking any longer

"God knows." At least, she hoped he did.

Marty didn't speak until they hit the freeway. "Are you going to tell me about it, then?" The file lay on the backseat, its contents contained by an elastic band. There was nothing written on the cover, nothing that marked it out as being in anyway remarkable.

"I had to call in a few favours. It appears that not everyone has been completely open and honest with us. It's a long story." Hetty drove considerably faster than Nell. There had been rumours that she'd once raced Formula Ford Cars at Silverstone racetrack in England and right now Marty believed every word of them.

"I'm not going anywhere and I'm sitting comfortably. So why don't you begin?"

"You may not like what I have to tell you." For just an instant her eyes moved off the road and flickered in his direction.

"That sounds familiar. Different singer, same old song?"

"Something like that. A very old song, and one which originated far from these shores. A variation on a theme, if you like."

Well, actually he didn't like, he didn't like it one little bit, but somehow Marty Deeks kept finding himself in the middle of these things. Clearly he had been very bad in a former life. For a couple of months back there he had thought his luck had turned, but obviously he'd been wrong.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty Four: Dirty Little Secrets**

"You will have gathered from your time with NCIs, and also from Caroline and Joe that I have been involved in the intelligence community for many years." Hetty tried to keep her concentration on the road, but it was hard not to stop her mind running back through all the years. "Things weren't so very different back in those days, although before the end of the Cold War our efforts were mainly concentrated upon the Eastern Block countries. It was still a game of duplicity and hidden agendas and long-term operations, some of which are still running. I made a lot of friends and even more enemies."

"Which camp was Joe in?"

"Oh, our country has always had a special relationship with the United Kingdom. In the main we have similar aims, although we have on occasion differed as to how these should be carried out. But he was not entirely happy when I spent that summer with your family in 1984. Our previously cordial relationship began to deteriorate at that point."

That made sense, in a horrible sort of way. Hetty never said or did anything that did not have an ulterior motive. "It wasn't just a personal visit then?" Despite everything that was being revealed, he still clung onto the faint hope that maybe some things were real.

"No. It wasn't. Your father was an important man, one whom it was recognised could be of great assistance; who could possibly even use his influence to help our country gain an advantage in certain areas of the world that would open up if the Soviet Union disintegrated."

Jack Brandel had only been a few years old than Marty was now during that summer. She wondered if anybody had ever told Marty how much he looked by his father, and supposed not. Jack Brandel's name had been ruined, and his family had been shattered. And Hetty knew that she was partially responsible. She had started the chain of events whose repercussions were still playing out to this very day. The gift of foresight would have been very welcome, but back in 1984 the world situation had been very different and Hetty had honestly thought she was doing the right thing – the only thing.

"Dad? Dad was involved? My Dad?" This whole journey was starting to become like some hallucinogenic road trip.

"The company had property holdings all over the world. For any country to hope for long-term economic stability, it must be able to attract external investment. Some political systems, such as Communism were at a considerable disadvantage, because there was no security of rights in land. However, your father was persuaded that Brandel Brothers might just take the risk of foreign investment without such security of tenure. It was not entirely altruistic, of course – your father was a patriot, but he was also a shrewd businessman. By diversifying Brandel Brothers into Eastern Europe, he was approached not only by foreign governments, but also by the organised crime syndicates, both here and abroad." And that was how Jack Brandel had become another chess piece in the international game – a valuable conduit of information.

"Shit." He'd never even thought of this. Brandel Brothers had been renamed and restructured in the early 90s, moving into high technology and secure information systems. They'd developed the Overlock tracking system, the methods of remotely logging on to virtual secure networks that NCIS and a dozen other agencies used to this day. And Marty realised these developments could not have just occurred by a co-incidence either. Someone, somewhere had realised that either the remaining Brandels were owed a debt of loyalty, or that they had to be kept sweet if old secrets were not about to come tumbling out of the cupboard. There were just far too many ties between the Brandels and the intelligence communities for comfort. Including himself.

"And what about Joe, Hetty? Who have he and Caroline been working for all these years?" Marty was beginning to wonder if anybody in his life was who they appeared to be.

Hetty cleared her throat. "Joe retired from the British Secret Service before you were born. You need not doubt his loyalties – they lie solely with you. He was the wild card thrown into the game, and he nearly destroyed our plans before they had ever begun. He knew I was not merely there for a family holiday and he fought me tooth and nail. You do not need to worry about Joe. He nearly ruined all our plans."

And how many nights had Hetty lain awake and wondered what would have happened if Joe had been successful, if Jack Brandel had listened to him instead of to her and refused to co-operate? All those long conversations she and Joe had shared over a backgammon board, as the pieces had moved around and sums had been gambled on the eventual outcome, the heated arguments carried out in low tones – what if he had prevailed? Just supposing Jack Brandel had walked away from the proposal - how very different would things have been. He would probably still be alive, for starters, along with her niece. But Joe had not won – she had. Hetty had involved her family in the game, while he had stayed loyal to them, and protected them to the best of his ability. A few days ago, Marty had asked her how she slept at night. Right now Hetty wondered if she would ever sleep again. She was beginning to feel a lot like Lady Macbeth.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty Five: The Needle And The Damage Done**

_More old secrets come tumbling out of the woodwork. Can Marty trust anyone at all – even Hetty? The devious plot bunny is well and truly in residence at the moment and he doesn't look like he's going any place else in a hurry._

_The action is starting to gather pace now, as the players start to move into their final positions and, as it is the weekend, there just might be further updates later today._

* * *

><p>"So what went wrong?" That was the advantage of being in the car: you could carry out a conversation without actually having to look at the person you were talking to. Marty wasn't sure he could look at Hetty right now and not have the urge to throttle her. It was probably a good thing that his right arm was still out of action.<p>

"The world changed too fast and there were too many new strategies in play at one time: the old Soviet threats were not completely neutralised, they were mutating, at the same time as new alliances had to be forged. Your father's contacts were suddenly very important men, in a position to wield real power, officially and unofficially. It could have compromised their new positions if they had been found to have brokered secret deals with the US. And at the same time, the situation in the Middle East, which had been bubbling along for years suddenly threatened to engulf everything. Somewhere, along the way, things changed – people changed and so did their priorities."

"My Dad was hung out to dry?" Marty could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Not exactly." The traffic was starting to thin out as they left the city and Hetty could move into a clear lane and accelerate. "Things changed – and more importantly the people in charge changed. There were new priorities. Jack's handlers were – a little lax. They exposed him to unnecessary risks, risks that he wasn't equipped to handle."

Hetty thought of the papers contained in the manila folder and the tragic tale they told. It had all got too much and Jack Brandel had sought the only release he could find – in drugs. The contacts he made forged over the years had made getting heroin as easy for Jack as buying a quart of milk was for other people. That was probably the only mistake he had made, except for being too trusting. But once he was an addict, he was also officially a security risk, and one which had to be neutralised. She had the bare bones of the story, but the players were still in the shadows, just waiting to be flushed out.

"I see. And where were you during all of this?"

"Doing my job. Going wherever I was told to, whenever I was told to." Hetty had made her sacrifices too; she knew exactly what it was like to be betrayed by those who were supposed to look after the nation's best interests. That was one of the risks they all took – each one of the numerous, faceless people who devoted their lives to jobs that did not officially exist. The difference was that she had gone into this voluntarily, with her eyes wide open and Jack Brandel had not. He had been recruited because of her – and he had died because of her.

"So who was it? Who sold my dad down the river?"

"I could never find out. I always suspected it was the same people who arranged for him to disappear so thoroughly after he left prison. I've redoubled my efforts over the past few days, and the picture is gradually becoming a little clearer."

"And the car accident? Was it an accident?" It was rather too neat a co-incidence, Marty thought. And it had the grubby hands of the CIA all over it. Clearly Jack Brandel was too big a risk to be left to roam around freely, perhaps even get back in touch with his family, or even worse, threaten to reveal exactly what he had been doing for over seven years.

"Probably not." Hetty glanced to her right and saw how stiffly Marty was holding himself, noticed the slight tic in his jaw. "You need to trust me. Can you do that?"

"What choice do I have?"

"Realistically, none. But I would appreciate your trust."

_And everything else that implies, Hetty. Like having your back, tacitly agreeing to let you take the lead, not to reveal anything to anyone unless you have approved it. You don't ask for much, do you? But what choice do I have? I'm a big boy and I went into this willingly. I didn't need to sign on that dotted line – but I did. So I owe her this much._

"You've got it. How much do the others know?"

The sign ahead said it was fifty miles to Camp Pendleton. "About your father's involvement – nothing at all. As for the rest – only what was strictly necessary. You may choose to fill in a few blanks later on. Mr Callen, like yourself has a deeper connection to these murky matters, but that is another matter. The connections are only tangential, but they are there."

Okay, this was getting seriously weird. Things were getting so intertangled that Marty felt as if he had been catapulted into a John le Carre novel. "Callen? How does he fit in?"

"That is his story. But the sins of the fathers have been visited upon him even more deeply than they have upon you."

From the set of her mouth, it was obvious that Hetty was not going to say any more. , but she had piqued his curiousity big time. It was common knowledge in the team that Callen's past was shrouded in mystery – heck the guy didn't even have a first name, just an initial, but it was clear that Callen was haunted by the few shreds of evidence he had that tied him to the past, that proved he had existed. Marty sat and mulled over the possibilities, distracted away from all the tales of duplicity that had led to the demise of Jack Brandel, which was exactly what Hetty had intended. She was an excellent puppet-master. Even Leon Vance was currently dancing to the beat she was tapping out, however unwillingly on his part.

Leon was, in fact, wishing he had never agreed to this whole crazy mission. He'd had to agree to seeing his career effectively being flushed down the toilet and, which was worse, discovering in what contempt he was held by those he had been in authority over. That was a particularly bitter pill to swallow, and Leon was not a man who lacked much in the way of pride. Deceiving his wife and children was much worse than all that, but Hetty had left in no choice. That was the price she had xtacted from him after that whole stupid mess with the Brandel boy – Detective Deeks, as he was now known. Leon knew of his past and he'd opposed him ever being approached by NCIS, but yet again, Hetty had prevailed. That woman had more contacts than Katy Perry had push-up bras and she hadn't hesitated to use a single one of them.

"We haven't spoken for some time, Leon. How are you today?" The voice broke into his thoughts and he looked up to see Nate Getz standing in front of him, with that sympathetic expression on his face, the one that made Leon wish desperately for a toothpick to chew down on.

"I'm fine." He looked around the room quickly. "Have you spoken to Sam?"

"Not since this morning. Why?" Nate looked at Leon carefully, wondering if the sudden change was a manifestation of some new psychosis or even paranoid delusion.

"I gave him a message. An important message – for Hetty."

"But Sam's ill, Leon, just like you. He can't get in touch with anyone in NCIS – you know that." Nate spoke very patiently.

"Cut the crap." Leon's eyes blazed with fury and his hands balled into fists. "Two words: Boden's Mate. Tell her – she'll understand. It's important."

"You've not been taking your meds, have you, Leon?" Nate gestured to an orderly. "Take him back to the hospital wing and make sure someone is with him at all times."


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty Six: The Games People Play**

He turned his back, ignoring the vocal protests from Leon and went outside, breathing in the fresh air with considerable relief. Nate had only got a couple of steps before his cell rang, the display showing it was Nell on the line.

"Doctor Getz? This is Flynn Gillespie calling. I'm afraid I've had a bit of a set back and I won't be able to join you today as we planned."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Flynn. I hope everything is alright?" He looked around anxiously, but everything seemed normal. Nobody seemed in the least interested in either him or the phone conversation. Still, it paid to be cautious, which was why he'd had Leon taken safely to the hospital, even though he'd believed every word the man had said. Something was very wrong in the state of California.

"I hope so too. My boyfriend Marty and his aunt were called away suddenly - some sort of family emergency and I've got to look after their house. You know how it is."

That confirmed his suspicions. Nate just hoped they were on their way to Camp Pendleton, and not somewhere else. Things seemed to be coming to a rapid boil and he wasn't entirely confident that he could control the "I do indeed. I'm sorry I won't see you today, but I do have a piece of research maybe you could check out for me? I've been thinking that Boden's mate might be the right direction to start with."

Nell scrawled down the words and looked at them curiously. "No problem. Hope to see you soon."

"You too." Nate ended the call and wondered what the hell was going on back in LA.

"Does that mean anything to you? Boden's mate? Is it related to any case you can remember?"

Kensi shook her head. "It's not ringing any bells. "Mate" is a naval term though. Or it could mean "friend". It's something connected to someone called Boden, that's definite. Can you start searching the databases while I contact Hetty and Marty?"

Nell was already logged in to the secure network, her fingers flying over the keys. "Nothing of any relevance so far." Nell frowned as she stared at the screen. "The name does sound familiar though. I just can't think why." There were hundreds of people called Boden, but none of them cross-referenced to anything remotely suspicious. "Nothing so far: no activity on any watch-lists, or Homeland Security alerts."

Kensi glanced at the screen. "There has to be something, somewhere. Keep looking." She placed a call on her cell and tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk until it was answered. "Marty? We've spoken to Nate. He said to give you both a message. It sounded important: just two words: Boden's mate. Nell and I are searching right now, but nobody called Boden is coming up with anything other than the usual traffic violations, non-payment of fines, petty theft. Does it mean anything to you or Hetty?"

"Boden's Mate? You're sure that what he said? This is important, Kensi."

"That's what Nell wrote down. Does it mean something to you?" Kensi could hear from the tone of his voice that not only had Marty understood the message, but that he was seriously worried.

"Put Nell on, Kensi. I need to know what Nate's exact words were."

Nell frantically thought back to the brief conversation. "Nate said he wanted me to do some research and that Boden's mate might be the right place to start. No – that wasn't it. Nate said something like Boden's mate was in the right direction. He definitely said direction – I remember that clearly. So it's a place, or something on a map, is it, not a person?"

"Not exactly. But it's definitely not a person. You can stop searching for that. I'll get back to you on the rest." Marty ended the call. "Okay, we're officially in trouble. Or rather you are. Nate's passed on a coded warning, straight from the lips of our late, unlamented Directo,Leon Vance. Kensi and Nell have no idea what it means though. You might just want to drive a little faster. Then again, you might just want to do a u-turn and get us the hell away from here."

"You clearly understood the message and assessed it to be a threat?"

"You weren't the only person who used to play games with Joe. He taught me to play chess when I was a kid. I got quite good at it for a while. Even joined the chess club at school, until I discovered surfing and girls. Not necessarily in that order." Marty smiled at the memory. "Back in the day, I used to study all the gambits and plays. Clever of Leon to use a chess term. I had him pegged as more of a bridge player myself."

"And the message was?"

"Boden's Mate."

"Ah." Hetty could put more meaning into a single word than any other person Marty had ever met. "The game of kings. Somebody has set up a checkmate then, to be achieved by the eventual winner sacrificing their queen. Which you correctly judged to refer to myself. Well, it's an elegant manoeuvre, if perhaps a little dated. A bit like myself, perhaps?"

"Never. Elegantly aged, like a fine brandy. Deceptively smooth, with one hell of a kick."

"It's a classic chess gambit, though. And it is unbeatable." Her voice did not waver for an instant.

"Unless you cheat." Marty grinned across at her. "I never did like sticking to the rules, did you?"

The engine roared as Hetty pushed the car to its limits. "What rules?" This was just like old times and she felt a familiar thrill of excitement.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty Seven: I Can See Clearly Now**

"And now look straight ahead. Try not to blink." The doctor stared closely through the scope, an expression of intent concentration on his face.

That was difficult, seeing how his eye was watering enough to make Niagara jealous, but Callen persevered. After a silence that seemed to last for an eternity, he finally cracked. "Well?"

"Your eye is healing beautifully, Mr Callen. I'd go so far as to say that the healing process is ahead of schedule, even. And your visual acuity is certainly very promising. Our earlier tests showed you are already regaining the sharpness of focus in the injured eye. All in all, the signs are very promising for a complete recovery, although there are absolutely no guarantees."

On the sofa, Nico was practically bouncing with joy. "Did you hear that honey? You're going to be fine!"

"He said things were "promising", remember?" Callen cautioned, not wanting to push his luck too far. "That's a bit like saying "probably" only with slightly less confidence."

"It's still a whole lot better than "possibly" in my book," she reminded him.

"Mine too." It was as if someone had released a valve and all the pent-up pressure his body had been storing up for so long was able to dissipate.

The eye specialist smiled as he packed away all his instruments. "The only word of caution I have to sound is that there is a possibility that another spontaneous tear could occur in your left eye. These things often have a genetic component. Is there any family history of retinal damage in your family?"

There was a loaded question if ever there was one. "Sorry, I've no idea. I was brought up in the foster system and I have no family details." Callen shrugged his shoulders.

"That's a pity. It would have been useful to know."

_Yeah, I can't disagree. Knowing who I actually am would have come in handy over the years. For starters, it would have saved me all the embarrassment of having to explain why I didn't get a birth certificate until I was six years old and why I have an initial instead of a forename. Sometimes I just wished they picked a name at random, even if it was something completely terrible like Gervaise or Gawain._ Callen just gave the doctor the mild, slightly apologetic look he had perfected over the years: the one which strongly discouraged the questioner from asking any further questions about his background.

"You're going to be fine," Nico whispered in his ear, her perfume floating around them. There were days when Callen only had to catch the faintest whiff of that scent and he had an instant erection. Today was one of those days. All this forced inactivity did not sit well on him. Plus, as Kensi had so kindly pointed out, they did have the house to themselves. It would be a pity not to take full advantage of the situation. Some might even say it would be stupid. And neither he or Nico were stupid people. They were just a little horny.

"I could be better." Callen took her hand and guided in down until she was cupping his erection, loving the way her eyes widened in delight.

"That already feels pretty damn good to me."

"The best is yet to come." As they left the room, Callen noticed that the dog seemed to have picked up on the atmosphere and was vigorously humping one of the sofa cushions with a pleasurably abstracted expression on his furry face. He could relate to that. So much so that it was over two hours before he even thought to check in with Kensi.

"You took your own sweet time, Callen. Recent events not quite registering on your radar?" It was impossible to miss the sharp edge to her voice.

This clearly wasn't the time to remind her that he was on sick absence and officially knew nothing about this operation. "Is something going down at Pendleton?" There was a sharp note of concern in his voice.

"I wish I knew. There was a last minute change of plans: Nell and I were diverted here to the Mission and given strict instructions to stay put. We last spoke to Marty and Hetty an hour ago and now we're starting to climb the walls a little."

"Back up, Kensi. Rewind that for me and go over it a bit more slowly. From the beginning and don't miss anything out."

Kensi was aware of a strange sensation in her gut. "You didn't know? And they're not picking up their cells either." This time there was no way she could keep the unease out of her voice. "They got a message. Callen, do the words "Boden's mate" mean anything to you?"

"Yup. They mean bad news in any language. Keep talking, Kensi. Fill me in on everything that's been going down. I'm getting Nico to drive me over right now. And it might be an idea if Nell can get hold of Eric and see if he could come in for a couple of hours." Callen wanted all the help he could get if he was to have a chance of pulling this one out of the bag.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"It's bad. It's about as bad as it gets. It looks like we've stumbled into the games the big boys play and Hetty's definitely on their radar. And that's not good. She's walking straight into a set-up."

_And from the sounds of it, she's well aware of it and yet she's still going ahead. Which means this is so important, she's willing to sacrifice herself. _

"And Marty's with her!" Kensi wailed.

Which was just typical, Callen thought. Some people just seemed to attract trouble wherever they went.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty Eight: Make Me An Offer I Can't Refuse**

They didn't even make it as far as the main gates. About five miles out Hetty's cell rang with a distinct and ominous ring-tone, comprised of just four notes.

"Beethoven's Fifth?" Marty raised his eyebrows quizzically, even as he handed it across to her. The call screen showed the caller details were withheld, which wasn't exactly a surprise.

"During World War II the British used these notes as a signal to resistance fighters during radio broadcasts to occupied Europe. It warned them that coded messages would follow and acted as a guarantee of good faith. It seemed rather amusing to assign that tone to this particular caller." She activated the Bluetooth function.

"Yes?"

"Take the next turn-off and turn right when you reach the slip road." The caller rang off immediately.

"And should we be re-assured?"

Hetty considered the question carefully. "Possibly. Previous encounters have led me to believe so."

He trusted her, he wouldn't have been in the car otherwise, but sometimes Marty wanted to put his hands around her neck and just squeeze until she finally stopped prevaricating and issuing these enigmatic statements. Trust was a two—way street, after all. "Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything I should know?"

They were at the turn-off now and Hetty did the whole mirror, signal, manouevere thing, while Marty scanned ahead, looking for any sign that might give him a clue as to what was going on. It occurred to him that this was pretty much a perfect metaphor for what they were doing – the whole smoke and mirrors bit, coded warnings – like some game that had started way back in the past, but which was very much alive.

"Just that Prague is a very beautiful city, redolent in culture. You really should try to visit it one day."

"There might be a few language barriers."

_What the hell does Prague have to do with anything? Can't you stop talking in riddles, Hetty?_

"Mr Callen has a remarkable facility with languages. He would be most useful. You might want to plan a trip together at some point in the future. Should you mutually decide that would be beneficial."

"I'll keep that in mind."

_Okay, there's some link here. Callen? Born in 1969 – the year after the Velvet Revolution? What are you hinting at, Hetty? Is there some connection between you and Callen and this whole convoluted affair? Is he the key to all this and I just got pulled in somewhere along the way._

There was a black saloon pulled up at the side of an abandoned lot and Hetty pulled up, leaving a careful distance between them, making sure they had a clear route out. She switched off the engine and reached for the manila folder, before handing it to him, along with the car keys and her cell phone. "Just in case. One never knows when a little insurance might come in useful." This was hard, she realised, looking at the expression on his face. For one moment Hetty wanted to drop her guard, to kiss him on the cheek, but in the end she contented herself with patting him on the hand. "It really has been a pleasure, Marty. Thank you for everything."

"I'm coming." He could see a figure clad in a dark raincoat was getting out of the car and the whole thing was so like some spy-drama from the 1960s that he almost have laughed. It would only have taken some rain, or perhaps a zither playing in the background to make it completely perfect. It certainly didn't seem like real life, that was for sure.

"I expected no less." Her hand poised on the door handle, Hetty paused briefly. "Just don't believe everything you hear."

"I grew up watching the X-Files. Trust no-one, right?"

As quotes went, it was rather neat, Hetty thought. It almost ranked up there with her particular favourite: _one can smile and smile, and be a villain_. Well, right now real life was following art and this particular play might just catch the conscience of the King. What it would do to the Queen was open to debate. She started to walk over to the familiar figure, aware that Marty was two steps behind her

"It's been a long time, Annabel." They were both much older now, but he was instantly recognisable; the years had been kind to him. And the memories came flooding back: the table in the corner of a restaurant, with the candle flames reflected in the dark wine; a hotel room, where lace curtains fluttered at an open window and they had lain together in a narrow single bed; the long walk across a bridge during which neither of them a word, knowing they would probably never meet again. Until now. After all these long years… It was impossible not to feel the past all around her, to be conscious of all the things that might have been different. But he was almost exactly as she remembered him, as she had loved him, right down to the inflection in his voice that still betrayed the fact English was not his mother-tongue.

* * *

><p>"You're in an awful hurry, son." Joe was standing in the hallway. "Going somewhere important?"<p>

Callen had made it his job to find out everything he could about the man and he was under no illusions. Intelligence officers for MI5 rarely lost all contact with their former bosses. "The Mission. Something's come up."

Joe scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And yet Hetty and Marty were last seen heading in the direction of Camp Pendleton. Doesn't make much sense for you to be going in the opposite direction, does it?"

"If Hetty had wanted me to be there, she would have said." Callen knew Hetty: knew exactly how secretive she was, how she protected her agents. He also knew that her past was shrouded in mystery. He wanted to believe that she would have asked for his presence, had she considered it was necessary, but Joe was sowing seeds of doubt in his mind.

"Would she? Are you really so sure about that? Annabel Krycek can play her cards very close to her chest and sometimes she will go to extraordinary lengths to protect people. She's very loyal – sometimes too loyal."

Krycek? It wasn't an uncommon name across Eastern Europe. Alarm bells started ringing very loudly in Callen's head. Exactly how far back and how deep did all this go?

"Thanks for your advice. But I think I'll stick to my original plan." Callen struggled with the turmoil in his mind, before concluding that sometimes you not only needed a strong back-up, you also needed a support team in place.

"No, son. You need to be with Hetty. Trust me." Joe looked at him squarely. "I'll even drive you. Despite everything, I still owe Hetty that much."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter Forty Nine: We'll Always Have Prague**

_Nearly there now! Just one more chapter after this…_

Callen thought frantically for all of five seconds. "You're on. Exactly how fast can you get us there, Joe?"

"Don't ask. I would tell you to keep your seatbelt securely fastened, but we won't have that luxury. Are you okay about riding pillion?"

"Under different circumstances, I'd offer to drive, but yeah, I can cope on the back." His eyes opened wide when he was what Joe was proposing. "A Ducati Diavel? Nice piece of machinery." Callen ran his hand over the bike with something approaching reverence. "You don't see many of those around."

"Not everyone has that sort of money. Or the good taste." Joe tossed him a helmet. "Hold on tight, now." There was a furious bellow of intent as he kick-started the bike into life and as Callen discovered, the acceleration was ferocious. It was like riding on the tailcoat of a hurricane. The Ducati was a serious piece of engineering and he found himself longing for the day when he could ride it solo and discover its potential for himself. Right now, it was a means to an end, and a particularly effective one at that.

* * *

><p>"Callen's not coming." Kensi looked at her cell phone with something approaching disbelief. "He's going to meet them at Pendleton after all." She didn't know whether to laugh, cry or start cursing men to the heavens. "So that means we have to sit here and just wait." Bloody men. Sometimes she really thought she'd be better off without the whole lot of them, with their macho attitudes and the bull-headed stubbornness. And then she thought of the way Marty had looked at her first thing that morning, with his sleepy smile and the way his hands could make her feel and the sheer magic of making love and feeling him moving within her and she scrubbed that idea completely.<p>

Nell managed to bite her tongue, but she was very tempted to remind Kensi that this was pretty much what she and Eric did for a good deal of the time anyway; that not everyone in NCIS dealt with alarms and excursions on a daily basis and that maybe it would be a good opportunity to experience the other side of things for a change. Sure, it was hard for Kensi, but she was still nowhere fit enough to even consider going to a ride-along.

"Any idea what he's travelling in?" Eric started accessing the traffic cams. The swelling on his nose had finally gone down enough to allow him to wear his glasses again and it was a refreshing change to see the world clearly again instead of just a series of blurred images. He was seriously considering Lasik eye surgery though. "We can see if we can track his progress?" The GPS showed that Marty and Hetty had been stationary five miles before Camp Pendleton for a few minutes.

"A Ducati motorbike. Joe's driving."

"Sweet!" Eric plugged in the information and in under a minute had the relevant image on-screen. "Joe doesn't take any prisoners, does he?"

"They'll probably set a new land-speed record, unless the CHiPs boys catch hold of them." Kensi's eye flickered back to the map showing the GPS signal had still not moved. If she hadn't spent a fortune on her last manicure she would have chewed her fingernails down to the quick by now. Still, there were always extensions to cover the damage.

* * *

><p>"Georg." Hetty acknowledged him curtly. "I would like to say it is a pleasure to see you again, but I've made it a point not to tell bare-faced lies unless they are absolutely necessary."<p>

"What has it been? Forty years – perhaps a little more and you haven't changed one iota, Annabel."

"Have you? Perhaps I should remind you of that present you once gave me. It's come in very useful over the years."

"Ah! The letter-opener. And do you use it for its ostensible purpose or for more nefarious deeds?"

"I use it for whatever purpose I see fit. And, talking of purpose, Georg?" Hetty cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. "I am right in presuming this encounter is not for purely social purposes?"

"Would you have brought Jack's boy along if it was?" Georg nodded towards Marty, who was watching the proceedings with interest. "He's the image of his father."

"I see a lot of his mother in him too."

"Perhaps. And what about the other child? Of course, he is a man now. You have kept him close over the years, Annabel. Who does he take after? His mother or his father?"

"He is his own person." Her mouth was set in an uncompromising line.

"And how much does he know, eh Annabel? How much have you told him – or any of your agents?"

"Nothing. And I see no reason to change that. There was no reason to tell anyone else. Unless you know differently?"

"It was a long time ago, Annabel, but there are still people who are interested, people who have not stopped looking. And they are getting closer. I wanted to warn you, for old times' sake."

"How very altruistic of you." She wasn't giving an inch.

"I'm an old man now. And sometimes even I have regrets. The boy should not have been used in that way. It was wrong. So, I came to warn you, nothing more. And to tell you not to worry about the other matter – that was merely a ruse to distract your attention from the real issue. " Georg gave the slightest of bows, just the merest inclination of his head, but it was enough to make Hetty remember the courtly gesture from so long ago and the long hot summer nights in Prague where the danger of their liaisons just added to the thrill of it all.

"That was generous of you. I appreciate the warning and the spirit in which it was delivered. We won't meet again." Her voice held just the merest hit of an inflection at the end, so that it was neither quite statement nor question.

"I fear not. As always, it was a pleasure." Georg looked across at Marty and nodded briefly at him. "Were we ever that young, Hetty?" Without waiting for an answer, he got back into the car, which immediately drove off. The windows were darkened, so Hetty could not be sure if he was looking at her, but she liked to think that he was. All of a sudden, the sun was very bright and it hurt her eyes, so much so that she could feel them watering in protest.

"Is it over, then? Or is it only beginning?" Marty asked.

"Our part is over. As for the rest, I suspect this was just the end of the beginning, nothing more. And it has shown me the dangers of obsession – that whole business at Camp Pendleton had me completely fooled. I really thought there was a long-term subversive action there, designed to weaken morale. I even convinced Leon Vance, that's how sure I was." Hetty shook her head in disbelief. "I must be getting old. There's no fool like an old fool." She sounded very weary.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Fifty: This Is The Way The World Ends**

_And here we are – the final chapter. So many thanks to everyone who has been following this story – for your reviews and alerts and just for sticking with all 50 chapters. I think all the ends are tied up into a nice neat bow around the plot bunnies, who are now all captured and ready for transportation back to the warren._

_Amblue – a special thank you for all your reviews. The ending is especially for you. The evil plot bunny saw what you wrote and insisted there was only one way to finish._

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><p>"Let's go home. We can call Nate when we're on our way and let him know he can wrap things up at Camp Pendleton and get Sam out of there. With any luck they could be out of there in a couple of hours. We might just leave Leon to stew for another couple of days though." Marty grinned cheerfully at Hetty. "Maybe even a couple of months? I've still got a bit of a problem with our dear Director."<p>

"You and just about everybody else who has ever had the misfortune of working for him," she replied tartly. "He has been singularly unpopular throughout his tenure at NCIS."

"You're not on his Christmas card list either? I'm in good company then. Come on – let's get out of here. We're still near enough for Allison Blye to sense me on her radar and come swooping out of the sky on her broomstick. She's impervious to my charms, you know."

Hetty held out hand for the car keys. "Give her a chance: she might just come around."

"Probably around the same time as Bobby stops farting so much." Marty eased himself into the car. "Are we ever going to talk about Georg said back there? About Callen, I mean."

"I told you before – that is not your concern. Just as the facts about your father's involvement with the CIA are none of Mr Callen's concern."

"But you will talk to him about it, won't you? Won't you, Hetty?"

"When the time is right." _Whenever that may be. And may God have mercy on my soul._

Marty stared at the long, straight road ahead. "Do you know where he's buried?"

Hetty nearly swerved right into the oncoming traffic and Marty instinctively braced his feet against the floor. "Who on earth are you talking about?" She regained control of the car in an instant.

"My Dad. Who did you think?"

Well, that had to count for a whole flock of geese walking over her grave. "He was cremated and his ashes scattered. Does it matter?"

"I'm not sure. I never really cared enough to ask before, that's all. But now, knowing what really happened – I'm not sure. Maybe it does matter after all. That nobody cared enough to give him a decent burial, but just threw him to the four winds." He slouched down a little in the seat. "Or maybe I'm just tired?"

"Probably." After a few minutes of silence, Hetty asked him to put on his IPod. She wasn't in the mood for any more awkward questions. The only pity was that Marty didn't have a single Lady Gaga track and Hetty vowed that she would have to have a word with Kensi about the music at their wedding reception.

* * *

><p>"Kensi? Lover Boy called and said we've got the all clear. No case to answer, so we're out of here. Can't say I'm sorry. Nate's just schmoozing us a ride back."<p>

"Very funny, Sam. You want I should tell him that? When he bothers to call me, that is?"

Sam grinned. Nothing could dispel his good humour today: he was going home. "Tell Deeks whatever you like. Once you've stopped staring into his big blue eyes and running your hands through his fluffy hair."

Two could play at that game. "I had a lovely chat with Denise the other night. You never told me how funny she is. **Schnookums**." Kensi could feel the tension seeping down the phone when she dropped that little bombshell. Why did lovers always give such stupid nicknames? And why didn't she and Marty have pet names for each other? Was that a sign something was wrong?

"Fair enough." Sam knew when he was beaten. "We'll be with you as soon as possible."

Kensi looked back to the GPS display screen. "Hetty's on the move again. Marty must have called ahead to tell Sam." She watched as the signal moved back onto the freeway, heading in the direction of LA. "She's had a change of plan then. Funny she's not going to pick up the guys – she's only a few miles away."

"Maybe Deeks started singing and she couldn't stand it any longer?" Eric suggested. "Callen's coming up on them fast. You want to call and let them know?"

"Very funny. You're not exactly Pavarotti yourself. You're not even Justin Bieber."

"Thank heavens for small mercies. Very small, in Bieber's case. Infinitesimal. Minescule…

"Yeah, I get the idea. You want to let me talk on the phone?"

Eric subsided into silence and contented himself with watching Joe and Callen via satellite. That was some bike. Kind of like the Bat-bike, now he came to think about it.

"Marty? Can you see a blurred shadow in the distance? Travelling faster than a speeding bullet?"

"This is a trick question, isn't it? What happens if I answer wrongly?"

"No trick. Callen's heading towards you – on your bike. Can you see him yet?"

"My bike? What do you mean _my bike_? As in my Ducati? My brand new Ducati Diavelo that was delivered last week and that I've not even been able to ride yet? What the hell is Callen doing on my bike?"

"We had a minor panic and Callen and Joe decided to come over all heroic and ride to the rescue. Kind of Caped Crusadery."

"Panic over. Everything's fine. I still don't see why Callen had to take my bike though."

"Tell Deeks I'm bringing them up on satellite and we'll be able to see if he's pouting," Eric called.

"And you tell Eric he'll also be able to see the gesture I'm making right now."

Kensi looked up at the screen and saw Hetty was moving with considerable speed. "You should be able to see Callen any moment now." And then her ear just about exploded. "What the hell… Marty?"

At the same time, the satellite showed a constellation of fire exploding in the middle of the freeway, right in front of the car.

"Marty? MARTY?" She was screaming down the phone, but there was no signal, only static.

"It sounded like a rocket launcher or a grenade." Kensi stared at the screen in disbelief, watching as the car rolled over several times, before finally coming to rest on its roof.

"Where the hell is Callen?" Eric was frantically scanning the road for a sign of the bike, but flames were already starting to lick at the car's undercarriage.

"It'll be alright." Nell put her arms around Kensi, who stood watching the screen in horror. "Eric – scramble help."

"Get out of the car. Get out of the car you stupid idiot." Kensi couldn't take her eyes of the screen. This wasn't supposed to be the way it ended. Not like this. It wasn't bloody fair.

Later, when she thought back, Kensi would remember watching as Callen arrived at the scene and dropped down onto his knees. It was almost as if he was praying. But she didn't often think about that day. Because it wasn't supposed to end that way. She'd been living the dream, only for it to turn into a nightmare right in front of her eyes.

**THE END**

* * *

><p><em>Evil plot bunny says Mea Culpa. But it kind of had to end this way.<em>

_It's been a complete blast. Thanks again and goodbye!_


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